Cars: The Hot Rods
by Jay Flux Wallace
Summary: After a rollover that almost kills him, the Radiator Springs community takes in a young, withdrawn, and absent minded Jeep with a dark past. Soon, he's raising heck across town, and takes a liking towards Sally's niece.
1. The RollOver

Cars: The Hot Rods

By J-Flux Wallace

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me. Remember that now.

**NOTES:** This is my first attempt at a "Cars" fan fic. I knew I had to do this story after I had bought a couple "Cars" toys and sketched out a doodle of my own vehicle as a "Car," realizing I was hooked. I hope you enjoy this story.

----

**Chapter 1: The Roll-Over**

"Usual, Lightning?"

"Yes, Flo. Two cans of premium, please."

The old show car turned around and headed to the back of the Cafe, leaving the red race car and the blue Porsche to themselves.

"How was the training session in Houston?" Sally asked.

"Oh, the usual," Lightning said with zealous confidence. "Broke a few records, signed autographs..." Then in a low voice, "...butted heads with Hicks again..."

"Again?" Sally groaned. "What was it this time? It wasn't like the fight that ended with the demolition derby in the parking lot, was it?"

"No, just some exchanging of words," Lightning said, exasperated. "But lets not talk about that. I haven't seen you all week, and I don't want to work you up tonight."

"Okay," she said contently, smiling. In the silence, Lightning looked over Sally's body, starting at and going back to the smile on her lips. _God, I love this woman,_ Lightning's conscience joyfully moaned. The two lovebirds just stared in their eyes until Flo came by with their drinks. Sipping out their gas cans for a few minutes in silence, Lightning looked around the Drive-in cafe.

_'little packed tonight, _he thought. The whole town, and a few travelers, were at the V8, making the place noisier than usual. Sarge and Filmore were out in the drive-in, again arguing about organic fuel vs. gasoline; the resident tuner cars - DJ, Boost, Wingo, and Snot Rod - were discussing who had what upgraded or added on over the weekend, and the Sheriff, and his two new deputies Allen and Roger - both 2004 Crown Vics - were taking a break to have dinner. Lightning looked up at the clock: 8:15. Lightning finally spoke.

"How about after this drink, you and me take a drive outside of town?"

"Hon, it's going to be a little dark for you," Sally said, "What about your headlights?"

Lightning winced. After he moved to Radiator Springs, Doc had told him he needed real headlights, and had ordered him a prescription headlight grill for him to use until he had real lights installed. Lightning hated it; it was dorky, it strained his front suspension, and, more importantly, it got in the way of Sally's lips.

"It's not that dark," Lightning said defensively. "And should it get dark, can't I just share your's, like we always do, where I cuddle next to you?"

A smirk on her face, Sally replied, "Okay, you suckered me in. We can skip the lights tonight."

_Praise the Lord!_ Lightning's mind shouted in delight.

----

The two cars drove slowly, side by side, down the paved road out of Radiator Springs. At first, it was just the two cooing and cuddling with each other. Then Sally brought up a well-worn topic Lightning didn't enjoy.

"Stickers, I know I've asked you this before," Sally cautiously said, "But when are you going to get the headlights?"

Lightning groaned. "Not this again!"

"I don't mean to be pushy, but I think you need them Lightning," she pleaded.

"Sally, I'm a race car," he reasoned. "Headlights only add to my weight, drain my battery and cost a lot to fix if I get in a wreck. Besides, the only time I'm out in the dead of night is at a race where the tracks are lit. "

Countering his argument, Sally replied, "Well, what if you drive to the city and don't leave until dark?"

"If I'm going to be that late, I will call Mater or Mack and have them pick me up," he said.

"What if they can't make it?"

"I'll get a hotel room."

"What about the grill? Why can't you use that?"

Lightning paused, looking over at Sally as he formulated a response. "Sally, not to be rude, but I wouldn't be caught dead in the city, or anyplace else, wearing that thing."

"Lightning, it's not that nerdy," she said.

"Are you kidding? Sally, I have an image to maintain," he argued. "If the press found out that I had one of those things, I'm ruined. I'd go from 'Lightning McQueen' to 'Lightning McDweeb'." Sally, of course, rolled her eyes at this.

"Besides..." he continued, his tone now more suave and charming as he turned to face the Porsche, "If I was wearing that thing, I couldn't do this..."

Lightning planted his lips on Sally's, and the two cars were locked in a deep kiss. Soon, the two parted, staring into their eyes again.

"...you got me there," Sally chuckled in a dreamy, out-of-it sort of way.

"You better believe it," Lightning murmured before pecking her on the lips again and again, until it escalated into a make-out session in the middle of the road. Never mind traffic; they didn't care. The two cars were in love, and could care less if anyone was watching. As far as they were concerned they were the only two beings on the planet.

...that is, until Sally felt a hook latch on under her back bumper.

Sally was immediately jerked away from Lightning toward the edge of the road, screaming.

"SALLY!" Lightning yelped.

"Let go of me!" she shrieked as she tried to get the hook shook loose. Tires squealing, she finally managed to get unhooked. She spun around to face the culprit, only to see an overturned SUV in the ditch, breathing heavily.

"...help...me..."

Lightning, now next to Sally, gasped, "Oh god," before zooming down into the ditch next to the car.

It was a red '99 Jeep Cherokee Sport, which looked like it had been through a war zone. It was dusty, scratched, dented, had a tire blown out, the cable on its winch rusty, and most of its windows cracked. The dirt surrounding the Jeep was stained with oil and drenched with gas.

"Buddy, are you okay?" Lightning asked.

The Jeep only gasped, too weak to open its eyes. Lightning could tell the four-by-four wasn't going to make it.

"Is he all right?" Sally asked, her voice trembling in fear.

"Go get Mater and wake up Doc! Now!" Lightning barked at her. Her engine roaring and tires squealing, Sally raced back to Radiator Springs.

Lightning turned his attention back to the Cherokee. Lightning could tell the car was getting worked up, breathing heavier and harder. "Pal, stay calm, okay? Help's coming. Buddy? Come on, man, stay with me..."

---

_"...son?"_

_Am I dead?_ The Cherokee thoughts as he opened his eyes and saw nothing but light. _I must be. There's no way I could've survived that crash._

Suddenly, the light went away, and he saw he was in an operating room. "Son, you alright?" The Jeep gasped in surprise, and turned to see a blue Hudson Hornet in front of him. "You had some folks worried about you."

"...uh, I did?" The Jeep asked absent-mindedly.

"Yes," the Hornet continued. "The couple you scared last night is in the waiting room fast asleep. So is the tow truck that pulled you out."

"...really?" This left the young gas-guzzler at a loss for words. "Why?"

The Hornet, a little befuddled by the SUV's response, said, "Um, because an overturned car near death is cause for concern for most people. I mean, if I saw a car dying on the side of the road, I'd like to make sure he made it through the night." He paused to given the Cherokee time to respond, only getting a blank stare from the young gas guzzler.

"Uh, anyway," the Hornet continued, "before we go any further, how about you start by telling me what your name is," the blue car asked.

"...Crimson. Crimson Alpines," the Jeep answered.

"Doc Hudson," the Hornet answered back. "Welcome to Radiator Springs."


	2. Who is this kid?

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me.

----

**Chapter 2: Who is this kid?**

By morning, the town was buzzing with curiosity about the mystery Jeep Mater had brought in the previous night. When Sally had raced into town stressed out and panicky, everyone had fear for the worse. But when Mater came back, they found out the damage was far more severe than anyone, including Doc, could have expected. His frame was slightly bent, as were his axles. The rollover had punctured his gas tank, jacked up his engine and destroyed his gearbox, and his drive shaft was hanging on by a thread. Flo had almost passed out at the sight of him, and even Sarge, a Korean War vet who saw worse injuries in battle, shuttered when Mater passed by with the young vehicle in tow.

Doc had to work through the night to keep the gas-guzzler alive. But during the operation, Doc had noticed things that struck him as odd. The big one being that the wear and tear on the young Jeep was more consistent with cars _his_ age than teenage cars. Granted, Doc knew that pick-up trucks and SUVs took more abuse than cars, but even the extent of wear on the Jeep was baffling. _Heck, this car is only a little younger than Lightning - in SUV years,_ Doc pondered as he patched an spurting oil leak. _What has this kid been doing? Could he be a runaway? Or even a criminal on the run?_

----

"He's awake." Doc told the three tired vehicles as he stepped into the waiting room.

"That's good to know," Mater said. "How is the little squirt?"

"Well, he's talking clearly, so I'm guessing there's no brain damage," Doc said, still wondering about the SUV.

"What did he tell you?" Sally asked while holding back a yawn.

"So far, all I got out of him is his name. Crimson Alpines," Doc replied.

"You're not going to ask him anything else?" Lightning asked.

"Not until Roger comes back with the kid's file," Doc said. "There's a few discrepancies with this car that's a little odd."

As if on cue, the young Ford sedan, donned in his state troopers hat, came through the door, a folder latched onto his bumper. "Roger, what did you get?"

"Not much, Doc," he said, dropping the folder in front of the Hornet and opening it. Inside was Crimson's picture and record. "Name is Crimson Rocky Alpines. Born March 23, 1999 in Denver, Colorado. Not a mark on his record. He's pretty young; 18."

"He's 18?" Lightning asked inquisitively. "How can that be? I'm a 2001 model, and I'm 23. I thought the kid was a '99."

"SUVs and pick-ups mature slower than cars, Lightning," Sally explained to him.

"18?" Doc muttered to himself before looking back at Roger. "Are you sure this record is accurate?"

"I'm sure of it, Doc. Why?"

Mater could tell Doc was onto something. "Whatcha thinking, Doc?" he asked.

"Well," Doc explained, "During the operation, I noticed that a lot of Crimson's body showed signs of wear."

"Yeah, so?" Lightning said, "He's a four-by-four; more than likely, he goes four-wheeling in the mountains. That'll put some strain on your body whether you're young or old."

"No Lightning, this is not wear and tear from weekend mountain climbing," Doc said. "This is more consistent with old service vehicles - city police cars, city fire trucks, tow trucks, 18-wheelers- and I'm not talking about vehicles born in the 90s or 80s. I'm talking cars _my_ age."

The four cars in front of him paused as they processed this information.

"...what! Your age?" Lightning said, flabbergasted.

"Doc, that is impossible," Sally added.

"Uh, I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss that, Ms. Sally," Roger said. "At the academy, we were shown pictures of cars that had driven nonstop for more than 3 months; usually they were tuners hopped up on NOS, though. But it is possible for a vehicle to get that much wear and tear from highway driving."

"So, what are we gonna do?" Mater asked.

"Well, Crimson is not going to be leaving anytime soon," Doc said. "I managed to patch up his gas tank, fix his drive shaft and gearbox, and pound his frame back into the right shape, but his axles, shocks, and suspension have got to be replaced. His engine and exhaust system really need an overhaul, and his fluids need to be flushed. Luigi is going to come by later today to fit him for tires, and I called Ramone and told him what shade of red he needed to order, as well as a new winch for the kid."

"How long are we talking?" Roger asked.

"5 days, at the least," Doc said. "Parts are coming in from Detroit."

A scraping sound from the operating room caught the attention of the five cars. They quickly drove over and popped through the doors to see Crimson trying to drive around on his right front rim, pieces of the shredded tire still clinging to it. He noticed the crowd staring at him, a look of embarrassment on his face. "Hi," he said, smiling weakly.

"Hi," the four other cars said back.

_This is gonna be an interesting week,_ Doc thought.


	3. Gifts, Greetings, & Mysteries

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me.

----

**Chapter 3: Gifts, Greetings, & Mysteries**

Crimson watched as the little yellow Fiat buzzed around him, talking a mille-a-second and throwing every kind of offer for tires at him. When Lightning and Doc had warned him that Luigi was "a little eccentric," they may have made an understatement. The moment the import, and his assistant Guido, a blue-and-white forklift, entered the operating room towing a tire display behind them, Luigi started lecturing him with this prepared speech on how the first tire was made and how it revolutionized the world.

Then, after inspecting the three remaining tires on him, he went off on the young SUV on proper tire care and how he's seen better tires on lawn mowers. The whole time, the forklift slowly circled Crimson, inspecting his tires and undercarriage, making the Jeep increasingly nervous and irritated. _This is nuts,_ The Cherokee thought. _I mean, I've heard of enthusiasm about your job, but damn! This little bugger won't stop talking about tires. _

As Luigi lectured him, he noticed Doc Hudson looking in through the windows of the door. Crimson, after making sure the Fiat wasn't paying attention, mouthed the words "Help Me" to Doc. Doc smiled at this.

"Mr. Alpines! Are you paying attention!" Luigi barked.

Startled, Crimson replied, "Uh, yeah. Totally."

"Great," the import continued. "Now that I got those offers on the table, as you Americans put it, which one would you like?"

Crimson paused as he calculated a response that wouldn't result in another lecture. "...uh, none of those."

The smile on Luigi's face turned to shock. "...not-ah one?"

"Yes, because none of them are right for me," he simply explained.

The look of shock turned to digust. "No no no no no! Luigi will tell you what is right for you," the car said in determination.

Getting fed-up with the stuck-up import, Crimson growled, "no, _I _will tell you what's right for you." Realizing his mistake, Crimson stammered, "I mean me. I mean- whatever! Look, pal, I am a Sport Utility Vehicle. I am designed for driving through every kind of terrain possible; dirt, gravel, mud, snow, etc. I am designed to climb mountains and tow cars like you out of mud pits. I can't do any of that in white walls. I go to a truck-stop with white walls on, I might as well have a "Run Me Over" sign tape to my back!"

While this was going on, Doc watched through the windows in the waiting room. He was fairly impressed by the Jeep's stamina. Most of Luigi's customers - if they weren't Ferraris or other imports - would have turned and shot out of there like a bullet train.

"Hey Doc!"

Mater's voice jolted Doc out of his train of thought. "Hi Mater."

"How's Crimson doin'?" The tow truck asked as he pulled up to the window to see Luigi and Crimson arguing. "Daggum! Luigi still trying to sell him those tires?"

"Oh yeah," Doc sighed. "This has been going on for two hours. I really need to talk some sense into Luigi."

Back inside the operating room...

"I don't need white walls, I don't need new rims, I don't need any of that," Crimson said, exhausted. "I don't even need the tires right now because Dr. Hudson is going to have to take them off when he replaces my axles and suspension. Just put on my spare and come back in a few days okay-"

Crimson twitched when he felt Guido poke his back axle for the nth time. "And would you quit POKING ME BACK THERE!" he roared at the little forklift. "I don't like when a doctor does it, and I sure as hell hate it when a complete stranger does it! Get up here where I can see ya!"

"Okay," the forklift happily obeyed and drove in front of him, parking next to Luigi.

Disgusted, the Fiat turned to Guido and distastefully said, "Come on Guido. Obviously Mr. Alpines doesn't need any tires right now."

"Okay," Guido said again. The two exited through the back door of the operating room, Guido pushing the tire display. Crimson could hear Luigi mutter under his breath, "American gas-guzzlers. They're all the same."

The young Jeep growled quietly in anger. "What a wingnut," he muttered.

At that moment, Doc and Mater entered the room. "Where were you!" Crimson snapped at Doc. Doc, however, just chuckled.

"What? I thought you handled him pretty well," he replied light-heartedly.

"Good lord," the SUV ranted. "If there is a mental institution around here, you need to throw that guy into a padded room. 'White walls'- I can't drive on white walls!"

"Relax, he's not gonna put you on white walls," Mater told him. "He'll come to his senses."

"He better before I knock some senses into him," Crimson muttered.

He heard the door behind him squeak open, tires rolling on the floor. "Oh, what now!" Crimson groaned loudly in frustration as his turned around, expecting Luigi and Guido again.

Instead, he was face to face with two other cars- One a customized, metallic red Impala Lowrider with orange pinstripes, and the other a green 1950s show car, holding a can of gas and a quart of oil on a tray.

"Oh sorry," he quickly apologized to the two cars. "I thought you were someone else."

"I was expecting that," the show car responded as she pulled in front of the Jeep. "Let me guess- Luigi offered you white-walls?"

"Oh yeah," Crimson said. "He offered me a bunch of other stuff, but I zoned out after 20 minutes."

The two old cars laughed at this comment. "Well, he does have that affect on people," the Impala commented.

"Anyway honey, I thought you might be hungry, so I brought you some oil and regular unleaded for you," the green car said, setting the tray down in front of him.

Crimson's eyes lit up as he stared at the tray's contents. "Oh, thank you," he gushed. "Thanks a bunch, uh Ms.-"

"Flo," she responded. "And this my husband, Ramone," she added, motioning to the Impala.

"Ramone is going to be fixing your dents and repainting you," Doc told Crimson.

"Yeah, just thought I'd stop by and check your damage," Ramone told the young SUV. Lowering himself to the floor, he looked down Crimson's left side, noting the odd dents and bare metal. "You know, I've done touch-ups after roll-overs, but I don't ever remember this kind of damage on the side."

"Oh, that's not from the roll-over," the Cherokee explained between sips of gas. "I accidently scraped myself against a tree once. Took a curve too fast."

"Well, we can fix that up," the lowrider said as he raised himself back up. "As soon as your axles and suspension are replaced, you can come by, and I'll put some new paint on you and replace the plastic parts of your fenders, okay man?"

"Sounds good, Ramone."

"Great. Take it easy, man," the Impala said as he rolled out of the operating room.

"I should be getting back to the cafe," Flo told the three remaining cars. She started to back out of the room. "Nice meeting you, Crimson. Don't strain yourself, okay?"

"I won't, ma'am," he replied. As he sat there, he realized something.

"You know, I never told that lady my name. How did she know?"

"Oh, everybody in Radiator Springs knows your name," Mater said. "They found out from either me or Lightning or Ms. Sally or one of the deputies."

"Hmm. I take it Radiator Springs is a small town," Crimson hypothesized as he turned around, pushing the tray with his other front tire.

"Yep," Doc said. "It use to be smaller until Lightning McQueen showed up a couple years ago."

"By the way, I've been meaning to ask you," Crimson asked, "Who is this McQueen guy?"

"You mean you don't know him?" Mater asked, puzzled by the question.

"I've been on the road for a few years, so I don't stop too often to catch a race," the Jeep explained. "Besides, I kind of lost interest in NASCAR after Earncart died."

"Well, Lightning was one of the youngest racers in the PIston Cup," Doc told Crimson. "And in one race, he got in a three-way tie with Chick Hicks and the King."

The Jeep stopped sipping his gas at the mention of Hicks. "Chick Hicks is still racing?" He chuckled. "I thought he would've given up after almost 15 years and only getting to second place. He ever win a Cup?"

"Oh he won a Cup," Doc muttered, a sour look on face. "Anyway, because of a mix-up, Lightning ended up here when he should have been in California, prepping for the race. He caused a bit of damage to the town, so Sally convinced everyone he needed to fix what he damaged."

"Why did she have to convince them?"

"Well, I was the judge, & I dismissed the case," he said, a little ashamed. "I didn't want a hot rod like McQueen in our town. I felt he wouldn't be good for the community. He was thoughtless. Arrogant. Selfish."

"He didn't act that way when he was standing by me last night, waiting for help," Crimson commented.

"Well, he's changed over time." Doc continued with the story. "So after a while, I guess he fell for the town."

"And for Ms. Sally," Mater added, chuckling slyly.

"Who could blame him?" Crimson remarked, blushing at the thought of the beautiful Porsche. "Anyway, continue."

"Well, I still wanted him out, so I called the press and the law enforcement agencies looking for him. Soon, he was in California. And during the race Hicks rammed the King into the wall."

"No way," The Jeep exclaimed.

"Way," Mater answered.

"He was pretty bad," Doc said, "Almost as bad as you. And Lightning was almost to the finish line when he slammed on the brakes and stopped inches from the finish line. He backed up and pushed the King to the finish line. A gallant act if I ever saw one. Hicks got the Cup."

"And after that, he moved back here, opened his racin' headquarters, and moved in with Ms. Sally," Mater concluded. "It was pretty cool. He got me a ride in the King's Dinoco Helicopter!"

"Sounds like a nice guy," Crimson said.

"He is," Doc said. "Especially to you. He and Sally are going to pay for your medical bills."

The Jeep stopped sipping the oil in front of him. "W-What? He's paying my bills?"

"Yeah," Doc said, puzzled. "Why are you so surprise by these people's generosity?"

"Because I've never been treated like this," Crimson told the Hudson bluntly. "I grew up in the city. In the city, it's every car for himself. You got to leave everyone in the dust to get ahead; generosity, politeness, even friendship be damned."

This brought up Doc's memories of the accident that ended his racing career; how afterward everyone had abandoned him and how it was a decisive factor to moving out to Radiator Springs. He sure could relate to the young Jeep. "Hmm. Is that why you've been on the road all these years?" Doc asked cautiously.

The Jeep paused, a hint of sadness in his eyes, before mumbling, "No, that's not why. I-I don't want to talk about." He went back to sipping his oil solemnly.

The tow truck and the blue Hornet glanced at each, questioning the Jeep's reaction. _And the mystery continues..._ Doc thought to himself.

----

Later that day, Doc had left the clinic for some reason, leaving Crimson alone. The Jeep didn't mind the solitude; he was use to it. It gave him some time to think things through.

_Should I stay a little while, _he pondered, _or should I go? It couldn't hurt to stay. At least, maybe I could get a job and get a little money before I head out. It would beat drag racing._

Thankfully Doc didn't ask why his engine and other parts were worn, otherwise he would have have to reveal that, in order to pay for gas and oil and occasional repairs, he'd participate in illegal drag races. "Dirt drags" he had dubbed them.

Dirt drags weren't like street races or city drag races. Usually, these races took place in dirt fields or dirt roads (Or paved roads, if he was in a remote place with few cops), and often it was between pick-ups and/or SUVs. It's quite difficult and very hard on the body: the uneven road, the strain on the engine and suspension system, and trying to keep stable at 100 MPH.

It was also fairly dangerous, since instead of cars on pavement, it involved four-by-fours on loose gravel. On more than one occasion, Crimson had witnessed some dirty driving by another truck that resulted in a roll-over. But they paid well; he could easily get $500 to $1000 off one race, enough to last a few months. And he was proud that he had never lost a race.

But ditch-digging was better than doing something illegal. Crimson never liked dirt drags - the danger, the strain, the fear of getting caught - but he usually ended up doing it out of desperation. He finally made his decision. _What the hell,_ he thought. _The folk here seem nice enough. I'll stay for a bit._

"Pit stop."

Crimson snapped out of his state of thought, and he turned to see Guido next to him, smiling at him.

"Oh what now?" Crimson groaned. "You're vouching for your buddy or what?"

"Pit stop," the forklift chirped happily as he went around to Crimson's backside, opened his hatchback door, and pulled out Crimson's spare in his cargo compartment.

"Hey what are you doing?" Crimson asked warily. The forklift set down the tire, pulled out a electric drill, and with the speed of a NASCAR tire changer, unscrewed the nuts on Crimson's bare right front rim. The rim landed on the floor, clanging loudly, as Guido put the spare on, screwed the nuts back on, and adjusted the pressure in the spare.

Crimson looked at the spare, then at the little forklift. He smiled. "Thanks buddy," he said, lightly tapping him with his spare.

"Okay," was Guido's response, and he was out the door.


	4. Checking out, Settling in

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me. Remember that now.

----

**Chapter 4: Checking out, Settling in**

**VROOOM!**

The Cherokee's engine roared, the noise reverberating off the walls of the operating room. _Sweet, _Crimson thought to himself. With the new axles, shocks, suspension, and now the revamped engine, he felt like a new car, even though the dents and cracked windows on his body said otherwise. _God, this feels good, _the young gas-guzzler groaned to himself, feeling his body vibrate with the engine.

"Okay son, that's enough," Doc said loudly over the noise. Crimson turned off his engine.

"Well, you sound a 100 better," Lightning commented.

"I feel like it, too." Crimson groaned as he stretched his suspension. "I feel like I could... take on the world." The red stock car and the Porsche in front of him chuckled at his remark.

"Well, don't think about attempting that yet," the blue Hudson Hornet told him. "You still need to rest a little while before you get back on the road. Maybe take a drive around Radiator Springs to break in your suspension system." Doc paused, looking over the exterior damage on Crimson. "Get a paint job and some new tires and windows, too."

"Yes, I will, Dr. Hudson," Crimson said. "I'll do all that before I leave." The Jeep turned to Sally and Lightning. "Now, what cone was that again?"

"Number five," Sally answered. "It's the best one we got. Just come by after you check out of here and I'll give you the key.

"Okay guys, I need you to leave; I got to finish some stuff on Crimson," Doc told the couple, ushering them out of the room. The two cars said their good-byes to the SUV and left.

"Okay Crimson, get on the lift," Doc told the young Jeep as he fired up some other equipment. Crimson rolled onto it, and soon he was up in the air, totally unaware of what was to happen next.

"So, what's the last thing you need to do?" he asked.

"I need to make sure your engine is tuned correctly, so you don't give off too much exhaust," Doc said.

The young Jeep obviously had forgotten how this was done. "And how do you do that-"

Suddenly, Crimson felt something shoved into his tailpipe, which he reacted to with a high-pitched howl.

----

At the cafe, most of the residents of Radiator Springs were sitting around, drinking gas and chatting amongst each other, when a high-pitched shriek interrupted their conversations. They stopped and looked around searching for the source of the noise.

"What was that?" Sarge asked.

"That sounded like the Sheriff the time he tried to jump over a boulder and landed on his pumpkin," Mater remarked.

----

"You could've warned me!" Crimson squeaked.

"Oh hush; this is normal operating procedure, son," Doc said, his ears ringing from the shriek. "Now, turn your engine on and rev it."

He got no response. "Crimson, turn your engine on and rev it."

The Jeep squealed in a horrified voice, "I forgot how!"

_Good lord,_ Doc's conscience moaned.

----

In a short time, Sally and Lightning headed back to the clinic to pick up and escort Crimson to the motel. The Jeep seemed more than eager to get out that place; why, the two cars didn't know. All they know is the Jeep did not once look the Hornet in the eye as he rushed out and mumbled a thank-you. Following him out into the street, Lightning asked, "What was that all about?"

"Nothing!" The Jeep nervously yelped.

Lightning glanced at Sally inquisitively, then decided not to ask any further. Besides, he had a pretty good idea why the 4x4 was so jumpy; the racer had a similar reaction to his first physical when he was young.

"Hey, Alpines," Roger greeted as he pulled up alongside Crimson.

"Hi Deputy."

"I see you're not wobbling as much as you used to," the police cruiser said. "How's the axles?"

"They're good. I love the suspension, though," the Cherokee commented as he bounced up and down on his front wheels.

"Well, I sure can tell the difference. I didn't realize how tall you were," the sedan remarked, glancing up at the Jeep towering over him.

Crimson chuckled at the cruiser. "So, you out on duty?"

"Yeah," Roger answered. "Me and the other deputy are heading out to the speed trap outside of town. We've been getting reports that some of our resident tuner cars have been drag racing out there."

"Hmm. Hope you catch 'em."

A look of determination in his eyes, the young police car snickered, "Oh, I will. See you later Crimson." The cruiser sped off.

Crimson looked down the street, checking out the sights: The House of Body Art, the V8 cafe, Luigi's tire shop, the Radiator Springs Curios Shop, Mater's place, and the numerous garages surrounding the area. The city car smiled, feeling a sense of calmness and warmth.

Lightning broke the silence between the three cars. "So, what do you think? Not much, but it's home to us."

"It's a nice town," Crimson commented, looking down main street.

"It is," Sally said. She stopped and turned around, waving a wheel toward the town hall. "Uh, right behind you is Town Hall; it's also the police station and fire station. The statue is of the town founder Stanley."

Crimson turned around to look at the old brick building and statue, noticing a red fire truck watering flowers next to the statue. "The fire truck's name is Red," Sally added.

At hearing his name, Red looked up in the direction of Sally's voice and saw the two cars and the beat-up Jeep. "Hey buddy," Crimson said to the fire truck as he waved a tire at him. Red, shy as ever, turned back quickly to the flowers, ignoring the stranger.

The Jeep frowned and turned to the Porsche. "What's his problem?"

"Oh, he's just a little shy, that's all," Sally answered as the three continued down the street.

"He'll warm up to you," Lightning said. "How about a drink? I'll buy."

"That sounds good, Mr. McQueen."

Lightning chuckled softly at the Jeep's response. "Crimson, just call me Lightning, okay?"

The three cars drove over to the cafe. Crimson immediately recognized three of the vehicles parked in the drive in: Flo, Mater, and Ramone, who now was sporting a forest green paint job with white-and-orange flames. The other two cars were a mellow old VW Bus, painted with peace signs and a rainbow, and a stern-looking WWII-era Jeep. Mater looked over at the Cherokee. "Hi Crimson!"

"Hi Mater. Hey Ramone; nice paint job."

"Thanks, man," the Impala replied.

"When did you get out of Doc's?" Flo asked as she started his pump, as well as Sally's and Lightning's.

"Oh, just now."

"How you feeling, soldier?" the military Jeep asked.

"I feel better, sir."

"Well, that's good to know."

"Yeah man," the VW bus drawled. "Everyone around here thought you were, like, a goner."

"Yes," the old Jeep added, "The only other time I've seen damage that bad was in Korea."

"Crimson, this is Sarge and Fillmore," Sally introduced the two cars. "Sarge runs the Surplus Hut and the SUV boot camp, and Fillmore runs the organic fuel stand."

"Yeah man. You ever try organic fuel?"

"Please Fillmore, the kid just cheated death," Sarge snapped at the VW. "That stuff would probably kill him."

"Oh, you say that all the time, man," Fillmore said to Sarge.

Mater interrupted the soon-to-be argument between the two cars. "Hey Crimson, I just thought I ought to warn you. Luigi is looking for you."

A look of dread crossed the Cherokee's eyes. "Oh lord; he's gonna try to sell me on those white-walls again."

Always the optimist, the rusty tow truck laughed heartily and said, "Naw, he won't."

As if on cue, a familiar Italian voice barked, "Mr. Alpines!" Crimson yelped in surprise of the Fiat in front of him. "I see you are out of Doc's clinic. Are you ready for your new tires?"

"If you're going to sell me the _right_ tires, yes," Crimson answered, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Luigi, however, didn't notice.

"Oh good, good!" The yellow import bounced up and down in happiness. "I tell you, the tires I got will make you shine like a star. The women will think you are the Michael Schumaucher Ferrari of the SUVs!" The Jeep rolled his eyes at the import's obvious bumper-kissing. "They will draw attention to you like you're a 'babe-magnet.'"

"Well, that sounds nice," Crimson said cautiously, faking a smile and waiting for the other tire to drop. "What exactly are these tires?"

Luigi turned and shouted, "Guido! Bring Mr. Alpine's tires!" The Forklift arrived, carrying four tires under a cloth. "Well, as first I thought white-walls, but then I realized I have better tires for you!"

Crimson breathed a sigh of relief. _Finally,_ he thought.

"I present to you..." The import pulled the cover off the tires, revealing four street racer-style racing tires with rims. "Lightyear Racer-Xs!"

Crimson paused, a blank stare on his face as he looked at the small tires. "Dude, those are racing tires."

"So?"

"SO? Luigi, those things won't support my body weight! They're too small," The teenage Jeep cried out in frustration.

"Oh nonsense," Luigi said. "Guido!"

The forklift, despite Crimson's protests, put on the two front tires. And the change was quite noticeable; the Cherokee resembled a funny car. He wobbled a little, trying to keep his balance on the two under-sized tires. "I look like an idiot," he said distastefully.

"Nonsense! You look wonderful! Just wait until I put on the other two," the import laughed. "Drive out a little and see what you think."

Crimson sighed in defeat, hit the release for the gas pump, and slowly rolled out about a foot...

**BOOM!**

The patrons of the cafe yelped as the tires blew up, proceeded by the clanging of the rims hitting the pavement. Expecting a "I-Told-You-So" from the young Jeep, they waited in silence. Crimson, however, just sat on his rims for a moment, looking slightly miffed. "Guido, please put my other tires back on before I do something to your buddy that I might regret," he calmly said.

The forklift's eyes widen at the threat, and quickly jacked up the SUV, switched out the tires and sped off with the Fiat. He sighed in frustration. "I'm never going to leave this place on new tires, am I?" he asked to no one in particular.

"If Luigi keeps that up, more 'n likely," Mater answered.

"So, I take it that as soon as you get fixed up, you'll be leaving?" Sarge asked as he sipped out of an oil container.

"Actually, I think I'll be staying for a while," Crimson replied. "I need some money, so I figured I could get a job here."

The other cars perked up at the mention of this. It's been a while since they've had a young car stay in Radiator Springs for more than a few days (usually, it was Lightning's fans waiting for autographs). The only other young/teenage cars in the small town were Roger and Allen, as well as the trouble-making tuner cars who made it home (much to the Sheriff's displeasure) after a brief stint of community service.

"Well heck son, you can work for me," Sarge said enthusiastically. "I need someone to watch the store while I'm out at the boot camp. Pretty simple work; restock the shelves, man the counter, mop the floors, maintenance, that kind of stuff. I pay minimum wage and you get an hour for lunch."

"Sounds good. When do I start?"

"Tomorrow morning at six," the veteran said. "Be there on time, Alpines."

"I will, sir."

"MATER!" a voice called out. Crimson turned to see an old Mercury Police Cruiser pull up. The tow truck thought he was in trouble.

"Uh-oh," Mater mumble before he defensively responded, "Sheriff, I swear, I did not let the tractors out again!"

"No, you're not in trouble" the old cruiser explained. "Grab two boots and follow me. The deputies caught that DJ kid racing a pick-up truck at the speed trap. Truck was going 105 before he stopped!"

"Daggum! Must think he's in NASTRUCK or somethin'. I'm on my way." Mater hit the release for the pump and turned to Flo. "Uh, put this on my tab; I'll pay tonight."

"Okay Mater. Take care," the show car called out as Mater and the Sheriff sped off.

_105? _Crimson mused, the few good memories of dirt drags coming back to him. _Man, I got to meet that guy._

----

"What a view."

Crimson sat out in the field beyond Radiator Springs, watching the sunset. It had been a while since the teenager had really seen a sunset. And the unique landscape of Carburetor County only added to the experience. It reminded him of times where he would drive up to the Rocky Mountains on family camping trips and watch the sun set through the mountains.

_Family,_ his conscience whispered. The young Jeep let out a sigh and slumped on his suspension.

"Hi Crimson."

"Hi Ms. Carrera," he said back to the Porsche, not looking back at the four approaching cars. Sally and Mater pulled up along one side of the battered Cherokee, and Lightning and Doc pulled up on the other side. He glanced at the other cars. "Hey Lightning, Mater. Doctor."

"How do you feel?" Doc asked.

"Hmm, better than before," he quipped. Doc chuckled quietly before gazing at the sunset with the rest of the group.

Crimson broke the silence. "Man, I envy you guys. I could never have seen a better sunset in Denver. Too much pollution; makes the sun look purple."

The other cars laughed softly. "Yep, it's a real beauty shot," Mater added before the group fell back into a short silence.

"So Crimson, it's getting late," Sally commented. "You know, you're going to be getting up at six tomorrow."

"Yeah, I should probably head to bed," he sighed as he turned around and headed to the Cozy Cone, the others trailing behind him. Sally lead him to the number five cone and opened the door for him.

"Now, do you need anything else? Some unleaded, anything?" the Porsche asked.

"No ma'am, I'm fine," Crimson replied as he backed into the cone-shaped building. "You people have done... more than enough for me."

The cars exchanged "good-nights" and the young Jeep closed his door. Mater and Doc left shortly after, leaving Sally and Lightning alone.

"You staying here tonight?" Lightning asked.

"No, I think he'll be okay," Sally answered. "Besides, I'm not that far away."

The two cars started to drive down the street towards their garage, Sally leaning against the red stock car lovingly. "You ever think about kids?"

A look of surprise and fear swept across Lightning's face. "W-Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason. I've just been thinking about the last few days and us taking care of Crimson."

Lightning smiled and and breathed a sigh of relief. "...I don't know. Sometimes I do." His smile turned into a faint frown. "But I'm pretty sure our kid wouldn't be like Crimson. With our genes, he would probably be more like... them," he said, motioning to Boost, Wingo, and Snot Rod, hanging out in the drive-in of the cafe.

"Yeah, that'd be a nightmare," Sally said as the two cars pulled into their garage for the night.


	5. The Tuners, The Girl, Robert and Boombox

Cars: The Hot Rods

By J-Flux Wallace

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. I also don't own Bill Engvall's "Here Your Sign" bit. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me.

----

**Chapter 5: The Tuners, The Girl, Robert and Boombox**

At the crack of dawn, the residents of Radiator Springs awoke to the familiar reveille call at Sarge's Surplus Hut as the veteran of the town raised his American flag... followed by Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner" and an exchange of words between the old Jeep and his neighbor.

"Fillmore! Turn off that disrespectful music!"

As usual, the VW Bus next door replied, "Respect the classics, man. It's Hendrix."

Sarge growled, his engine revving in frustration. "Hippie," he muttered to himself.

"Like, do you two just argue all the time or what?" a voice behind him asked. Sarge turned to face a red, teenage Cherokee.

"Alpines, you're up," Sarge said, not acknowledging the teenager's question. "I'm impressed. Usually my new young employees are late."

"Well, I'm an early-riser, sir," Crimson said, holding back a yawn. "Now, show me what I need to do and I'll be out of your grill."

Sarge grinned. _Finally, a kid who actually wants to work, _he thought. "Right. Follow me."

----

Sarge spent a few minutes showing the store to Crimson and giving him the basics to running the place, addressing him like a soldier. Sarge would occasionally glance at the Cherokee to see if he was paying attention, and surprisingly, he was. The way the younger Jeep acted baffled Sarge, making the veteran concluded that he had become way too use to modern teenagers he dealt with at the boot camp - Crimson never seemed intimidated by the old Jeep, and never gave him any lip. Shortly after, the old Jeep left for the boot camp, leaving the store in the wheels of the young SUV.

Behind the cashier register, Crimson looked around the store, noting the dust-covered merchandise on the rows of shelves. _When was the last time someone bought anything here? _Crimson asked himself. He lazily slumped on his suspension and sighed, boredom kicking in. He glanced around the building for something to do.

A flickering light bulb above him caught his attention. At first, he ignored it. But, the more it flickered and buzzed annoyingly, the more it bugged him. Finally, he went to the back and got the scissor-lift and a light bulb gripper. He raised the lift, and tightened up the light bulb until it didn't flicker no more. "There we go. Much better."

Suddenly, the light bulb popped and went out. "Ah nuts."

He lowered the lift and headed to the basement to get a replacement bulb. He went to the back, opened the basement door, hit the light switch, and proceeded down the corkscrew ramp into the basement.

However, the ramp was a bit narrow for the SUV, which he didn't notice...

**SCRUUNCH!** "Ah crap!"

...until he got stuck.

Crimson was pinned between the wall and the pillar the ramp wrapped around. He tried to shake himself loose, but no avail - he was wedged in tight. _What am I, a rolling bad luck magnet?_ he thought. He shifted into reverse and gunned his engine. He stopped when his tires started squealing loudly. He then shifted into four-wheel-drive, hoping the extra grip would help, but all he got were screeching tires and smoke. He stopped for a moment.

"...I can't believe this," he groaned miserably. He consider his options; either keep trying to back out, or wait until Sarge or someone else stopped by. The backing out option seemed futile at the moment. The second option was probably the easiest... but the most humiliating. After all, he had enough horse-power to drag a pick-up truck out of a parking space, yet he couldn't get himself out between a wall and a pillar! He could imagine the hoopla over it; Mater or Sarge trying to pull him out, he'd be so stuck that they'd call in Red to do it, everyone over town would laugh at him...

_Come on, you can do it! _his conscience cheered. _You've been in tougher scrapes than this! Just floor it until you come loose. _

A determined grin on his face, Crimson revved his engine, and all four of his tires soon began screeching. After a while, he could feel the right side of his body scraping against the pillar. He wiggled a little as he felt himself slide back up the ramp...

**VROOOM! **The Cherokee shot out of the doorway. "Whoo-hoo! I'm free!"

Then he remembered: there were shelves of (possibly expensive) merchandise behind him.

With the reflexes of a foreign sports car, the Jeep slammed on his brakes and did a 180-degree turn at close to 40 MPH. His right front fender lightly tapped a shelf, which at the top had a stack of steel foot lockers. He froze as the shelf wobbled a little, but nothing fell off.

Crimson paused for a second before laughing triumphantly and shouting, "Yes! I still got it!"

That's about the time he got clobbered with one of the previously mentioned lockers. It landed on his roof with a loud crash, causing the Jeep to let loose a slew of words that'd make any church-going man die from shock.

----

A few hours later, Sarge came and relieved Crimson of his duties for lunch... after he explained the mystery dents on his side and roof. As he pulled into the cafe drive-in, he saw the two deputies chatting by themselves.

"Hey Deputy. I didn't know you had a clone," he joked.

Roger chuckled at Crimson's remark before introducing the other Crown Vic. "Alpines, this is Deputy Allen. Allen, you read Alpine's file."

"Yeah. How you doing?" the other deputy asked.

"Doing fine," Crimson answered as he pulled into a stall next to Roger and hit the release for the gas pump. "Just got out for lunch."

"What's up with the scrape on your right side?" Roger asked. "I never noticed that before."

"Oh, it's nothing. Kind of, uh, got stuck going into the basement," the Jeep mumbled.

Roger laughed a little. Allen, however, wasn't amused. "Man, I told Sarge he had to bring that building up to code," he muttered as Flo pulled in front of him with his order.

"Oh, relax Allen. He'll get around to it," Flo said.

Suddenly, the two police cruisers perked up at something. "...what is it?" Crimson asked. Then he heard it.

It was faint, but it was a sound Crimson was all too familiar with. Two engines that buzzed and one engine that was a souped-up small block.

"...tuners," Roger said in monotone.

"Oh joy," Flo muttered.

Three cars could be seen rolling down the road toward the cafe. One was a large purple-and-black import with a huge spoiler and NOS canisters on its back, leading the pack. Behind him was a smaller green-and-purple import with Japanese decals on the sides and a stack of spoilers on its back, and the other was an orange muscle car with a huge blower on its front.

They pulled into the drive-in and saw Crimson. The purple-and-black racer was the first to speak. "Whoa! Guys, look who's back from the dead!"

"I thought this here gas-guzzler was roadkill when that tow truck brought him in," the smaller green racer chided.

"He must be a zombie, because he still looks like roadkill," the orange muscle car added, causing the two other cars to laugh out loud.

Crimson turned to the deputies. "Who are these clowns?"

"Alpines, meet Boost, Wingo, and Snot Rod," Allen answered in displeasure. "I'm sure you can tell who's who."

Boost pulled up to get a closer look at the Jeep. "Shoot man, look at you. You might as well be a demolition derby car. Ain't you ever heard of a body shop?"

"Ain't you ever heard of 'mind your own damn business'?" Crimson shot back.

"Ooo, I think you hit a nerve on the Jeepster, dawg," Snot Rod said mockingly.

"Yeah man, chill," Wingo said before turning to Crimson. "You can get fixed up pretty easy, dude. Get some sweet dubs, a spoiler, chrome, who knows- you could even join up with us."

Crimson looked at the small car, and laughed. "Yeah right. And look like you? Trust me shrimp, I wouldn't be caught dead looking like you or your buddies. In fact, if I were you, I'd get rid of that stepladder on your back. The girls around here would think you're over-compensating for something."

Wingo sat there in embarrassment as the deputies and Flo bursted out laughing, a smug grin on Crimson's face.

"Man, that was a good burn," Snot Rod commented. Wingo smacked him on the side with his tire. "Shut up!" the little car squeaked angrily. He whipped back around and glared at Crimson. "No one talks that way to me. Never!"

Wingo charged at Crimson, his front tires squealing and engine screaming. Everyone gasped and shut their eyes, awaiting the impact...

...but it never came. All they heard was Wingo's tires screeching on the pavement. They opened their eyes to see the red SUV effortlessly holding back the green import with his right front tire. "Man, the tuners back home had more horsepower than this guy," Crimson commented.

Finally he shoved Wingo in the opposite direction forcefully; the import shot between Boost and Snot Rod and let out a shriek before crashing into a bunch of garage cans on the sidewalk. "Ah, sick!" he cried out, now covered in garbage.

Boost and Snot Rod looked back at Wingo, than back at Crimson. Boost's eyes narrowed as he glared at the Jeep. "No one messes with one of our boys, road-hog!" The two cars revved their engines and approached Crimson.

Allen pulled out in front of them. "Okay, that's it! Boost, you and your friends get out of here before I throw all three of you in the impound. Now!"

Boost and Snot Rod glanced at Allen, then at Crimson, and finally backed away slowly. "I'm gonna get you, gas-guzzler."

Crimson smiled and replied, "I'll be waiting, NOS-head."

The three tuners left the cafe.

"Man, you have no idea what you've just done," Roger told Crimson.

Crimson looked over at the young Ford. "What? Don't tell me you're afraid of those under-power, over-juiced, over-painted lemons. I say bring it. You'll be arresting me for murder after I finish them off."

----

Days passed without incident, and soon Crimson found himself to be the talk of the town.

It started with the incident involving the tuners. Many of the local residents would stop by the Surplus Hut just to talk to him about the tuners and what he did, including the Sheriff and Doc Hudson. Sarge even gave him a special semi-automatic rifle given to military academy cadets. ("For Bravery," the veteran said.)

And then of course, there was Sarge. The elder Jeep was particularly impressed by Crimson's work around the store. Day by day, the veteran would come to the cafe at dinnertime with something new to gush about. Once it was about a shelf with night-vision headsets, all stacked and lined-up neatly with not a speck of dust. Another time it was about a $500 trailer-cannon he had sold that Sarge had been trying to get rid of for years. The others had never seen him this enthusiastic about a hired hand ever.

Shortly after, the rest of the town started to visit the store and talk to Crimson. Mack stopped by once to see "who this kid was McQueen and Sally were talking about"; Red would occasionally peek into the store windows at the young Jeep, even Lizzie had stopped by and offered him a "better-paying" job at the Curio shop. The young Cherokee declined - mainly because he liked working at the Surplus Hut, but also because he was picking up a slightly lecherous vibe from the old Model T.

----

"Alpines!"

The red Cherokee turned to face the green military Jeep behind him. "Hey Sarge. What's up?"

"My assistant couldn't be able to make it to the boot camp today- he got laid over in Knoxville," Sarge explained. "Anyway, we're doing long distance speed drills, and I need some help. Just need you to make sure they make it to the half-way point."

"...do I get paid overtime?" Crimson asked.

"...uh, yeah, sure you do," Sarge answered. "Now come on. I'll tell you the basics on the way."

----

"Okay runts, listen up!" The line of tricked-out SUVs and pick-ups jumped at the sound of Sarge's voice. "Today, we are doing a Forty-Mile/Forty Minute speed drill. In case you're too stupid understand that, it means you have to cover forty miles in under forty minutes. This drill was used during World War I, World War II, and the Korean War for cars that had to manually detonate bombs and be able to get out in a specific time frame. Mr. Alpines here is going to be at the halfway mark to make sure you make it through," Sarge said, motioning to Crimson.

As Sarge continued lecturing the SUVs and trucks in front of him, Crimson looked over the group. It was mainly Hummers, heavy-duty pick-ups, Escallades, Yukons, and Explorers. All of whom had lift-kits, huge tires, custom rims, chrome, and outrageously gaudy paint jobs. _Not a real 4X4 in the bunch,_ Crimson thought to himself.

At the far end of the group, however, two cars got his attention. One was a tiny, blue panel truck/van, a 2004 model by the looks of it, about Crimson's age. He had a huge spoiler, speakers on his sides, and street racer tires and rims. He looked more like a tuner than a SUV, and was the most nervous among the group.

The other was a 1985 ivory-and-red Ford F350 Extended Cab, a white cowboy hat on his roof with Texas plates and a winch. Everything on him looked stock. He looked to be in his mid 20s, and compared to the rest, was the most calm. He even looked relaxed in this environment.

Sarge wrapped up his lecture. "Any questions?"

A silver-and-navy blue Chevy Avalanche quiped, "Are we going to get sand in our rims again, sir?"

Crimson did a double-take. _What kind of idiotic question is that?_ he thought.

Before Sarge could scold the Avalanche, Crimson said, "No pansy, we're gonna have one of your friends carry you on his back so your rims stay nice and clean. Here's your sign."

The other SUVs and trucks bursted out laughing as the Avalanche sunk into his suspension, redder than an apple. Sarge turned to Crimson, grinned, and nodded in approval. He turned back the group and barked, "Okay, that's enough of that. We'll spend a few minutes doing stretches before we start."

Sarge turned around and drove over to the teenage Jeep. "I have the radio and the clipboard with the privates' names out at the checkpoint. If any of them don't go through the checkpoint, radio it back me. How much time do you need to get out there?"

"It's 30 minutes out?" Crimson asked.

"Pretty much."

"I'll be there in less than 10," the young Jeep answered. He started his engine and shot off down the course like a racer.

----

At the ten minute mark, Sarge sent the group off and got up in his observation tower. Through an electronic telescope hooked up to a TV set, he could see the square 10 mile-by-10 mile course, and a slow moving dust cloud traveling down it.

Sarge could hear a couple of cars roll up behind him. "Hello Sarge."

"Hi Doc," the Jeep gruffly replied, not looking up from the monitor.

"So Sarge, I heard you put Crimson out on the course. How's he doing?" another, younger voice asked.

Sarge turned to come face-to-face with a familiar red stock car, as well as a blue Porsche and a rusty tow truck. "McQueen? I thought you were having a meeting with that Soupcart racer."

"_Stew_cart," Lightning corrected. "Tony's being held-up in Phoenix, so he'll be coming tomorrow. I had Mack take over for the rest of the day."

"So where is Crimson?" Mater asked.

"Out at the halfway point, making sure none of the little brats try to make a run for it." Sarge hit the call button on the radio. "Alpha-Leader-Pinecone, this is Six-Alpha-Roger-Green-Echo. Do you copy, over?"

A voice came back saying, "Dude, what?"

_Oh yeah,_ Sarge thought. He remembered he wasn't talking to his regular assistant. "Uh, sorry Alpines, act of habit," he said into the microphone. "How you doing out there?"

**At the checkpoint...**

"Well, to tell the truth, I'm pretty bored," Crimson answered back. He glanced down the five mile stretches of dirt road on both sides of him, not a glimpse of a car in sight. "I managed to get out here in about seven minutes. It's been 26 minutes; where are these bozos?"

**At the tower...**

Sarge pointed the telescope at the dust cloud on the course and looked at the monitor. "They're pretty close to the 15 mile marker at the corner," he answered back. On the monitor, he noticed some movement among the trucks in the crowd as the ivory-and-red Ford zoomed between them and shot ahead of the group. "Wait a minute; looks like the '85 Ford in the cowboy hat is in the lead."

"Jeez, he's really hauling it now." Lightning commented.

"They'll be passing you by in a few minutes," Sarge added as he swung the telescope, Crimson coming into view on the monitor... as he was scratching his grill on a nearby cactus.

"...Alpines, are you picking your grill?" Sarge asked over the radio.

On the monitor, Crimson stopped scratching and stammered on the radio, "Uh, wha-what? I-I'm not p-picking my grill!"

"Don't lie to me. I saw you picking your grill in the telescope," Sarge said.

"I wasn't picking my grill; I had an itch!" the teenager said defensively over the radio.

"It don't look like it," Sarge replied.

The five cars leered away from the speaker as Crimson screamed, "_I wasn't pickin' my grill; I was scratchin' it, dammit!_"

"Okay son, calm down! Jesus-Chrysler," Sarge said.

**Back at the checkpoint...**

Crimson re-gathered his nerves as the first truck came into view, barreling down the course. He pulled the clipboard in front of him to check off the names. He looked down and flipped through the list until he found the truck's picture and name:

**del Camino, Robert**

He put a check next to his name. He looked up to see where the truck was.

As the Ford passed by, Crimson yelled over the roar of his engine, "Good job, man. You're making great time!"

"Thank you!" the Ford yelled back as he passed by.

A few minutes passed and the rest of the group passed by, Crimson checking off names and shouting words of encouragement ("Come on guys! Are you compacts or are you gas-guzzlers? You own the road, so act like it!") Soon the trucks and SUVs passed by, and Crimson had checked off every name but one.

He glanced up to see the blue panel truck tailing behind the dust cloud of the bigger vehicles, muttering angrily to himself. _This guy even sounds like a tuner,_ Crimson thought. He looked down the list and checked off his name:

**Yota, DJ**

"Come on, DJ! Move it," Crimson barked at the tuner. "You got 20 miles and 29 minutes left."

"Get bent, road-hog!" DJ snapped at the Jeep. Crimson was taken aback by the panel truck's comment. _Man, what a jerk,_ he thought. He hit the call button on the radio. "Sarge, they all passed through. What do I do now?"

"Come on back, Alpines," Sarge said over the radio. "Follow the group to make sure none of them are slacking off. Just leave the stuff at the checkpoint."

"Roger that," Crimson called back. He started his engine and sped off down the course.

_Wait until I get my tires on that tuner,_ his conscience grumbled as he sped down the course next to the road. _Too bad I don't have my winch on me. I could make a noose out of it, heh-heh. _

Suddenly, he caught a glimmer on the road coming toward him. He squinted his eyes to see what it was.

Finally, he saw her.

The most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire lifetime.

She was a 2004 Volkswagon Jetta. Charcoal-colored, her paint-job glistening in the sunlight. She had chrome trim, a roof rack, and the sexiest curves ever. It was like that moment in the movies where the guy sees the really hot girl next door: everything slowed down, Roll-DMC's "Drive This Way" playing in the background (_"Had a Jetta, had a Mazda, and they gave me just a lil kiss, like this!"_ followed by the guitar lick), he could see every curve on her body, as well as her beautiful stark blue eyes.

Crimson stared at the girl as she passed by, drawling out, "Whatta Jetta-"

**WHAM!**

Crimson was brought back to reality after running into a cactus head on, the cactus busting apart as he ran over it. He shook the bits of cactus out of his eyes and stopped, swinging around in the opposite direction.

He blinked a few times and searched the horizon for the Jetta, but she couldn't be found on the road. He sat there and sighed, disappointed. _Man, I knew she wasn't real,_ he thought as he turned around slowly and drove back to the site.

----

Crimson pulled into the site, noticing the other vehicles chatting with each other. He looked around for Sarge and finally saw him, talking with Doc, Lightning, Sally, and Mater.

"Hi Crimson. How did you do?" Sally said to the Jeep as he pulled up.

"I did fine, Ms. Carerra," he replied.

"You took a long time to get here. You all right?" Sarge asked.

"Oh, I'm fine. I just had a little accident," Crimson said. "I, uh, ran into a cactus."

"Oh. You needed to pick your grill again?" Mater chuckled.

"I wasn't pickin', I had a friggin' itch!" Crimson snapped, blushing uncontrollably.

Lightning and Sally snickered at his reaction. The young Jeep looked around the other SUVs and pick-ups, talking among each other. He turned back to Sarge and asked, "You giving them a break or something?"

"Sort of," the veteran answered. "We're having a town meeting today, so I'm giving them the rest of the day off. So, did any of them give you any lip?"

Crimson paused before answering. "...just one." He turned around and motioned at DJ. "The little blue one with the speakers. DJ."

"Really? Well, I'll just straighten him out-"

Before Sarge could move, Crimson stuck a tire in front of him. "No Sarge. I want to handle this one personally." Crimson drove off toward the young tuner.

He pulled up behind DJ, who was talking to a Escallade and a Hummer, whining about something. Crimson honked his horn loud, scaring the smaller car. DJ let out a yelp and whipped around to face Crimson. "Dude, what the hell was that for?"

"'Get bent, road-hog'? Who the hell do you think I am; some compact you can push around on the interstate?" the Jeep barked as he shoved DJ with his front tires.

"Don't you touch me!" DJ shot back, shoving the Cherokee with his front tires. Or at least, he tried to. Crimson gunned forward, knocking DJ up onto his rear.

DJ swung back onto his tires and growled at Crimson. "Gas-guzzla, you have no idea who you're messin' with!"

"Actually, I do, Boombox," the Cherokee said. "I'm messing with a disrespectful, pitiful excuse of a car, who under normal circumstances, I wouldn't even give the time of day to."

"So why are you giving me the time of day now?"

"Well, I'd like an apology."

"An apology?" DJ scoffed.

"Yeah," Crimson said. "Before I turn you into a cube of scrap metal."

"Make me," DJ said.

"I'll be more than happy to make you, runt," Sarge said, glaring at the tuner as he pulled next to Crimson.

DJ glanced at Sarge, then at Crimson, and sighed angrily. "Okay, I'm sorry I told you to get bent," he grumbled.

A satisfied smirk on his face, Sarge pulled away from Crimson. DJ Pulled up next to Crimson and whispered, "You better be watching your back, 'cause me and my friends are gonna mess you up bad."

"I'll be waiting, Boombox."

The tuner raced off the boot camp site. "Stupid tuner," the Jeep mumbled.

A voice came up behind him. "Hey man. Good job telling off the tuner." Crimson turned to see the ivory-and-red '85 Ford that was heading the group earlier.

"Thanks, man," Crimson replied. "Uh, del Camino, right?"

"Robert. Robert del Camino."

"Crimson Alpines. Hey, I've been wondering - I heard through the local police that some truck that was racing that tuner was thrown in here. Do you know who it was?"

Robert chuckled. "You're looking at him, man."

"It was you? You were the dude pulling 105?" Crimson asked. "Awesome! Did you win?"

"No, neither of us did. Those two deputies caught us before we could finish the race," Robert answered.

"Hmm. Bummer," Crimson said. "Want to get a bite to eat before the town meeting? I got some interesting drag racing stories you might like to hear."

"That sounds good, Alpines," The Ford said as they drove back to town.

----

NOTE: In case you didn't know, Roll-DMC and "Drive This Way" are parodies of the rap group Run-DMC and their song "Walk This Way."


	6. Enter Becky

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me.

----

**Chapter 6: Enter Becky**

For the next half-hour at the cafe, the '85 Ford and the '99 Jeep chatted and guffawed over anything and everything about racing, girls, pranks they've pulled in their respective communities, and more racing.

"So, I'm right alongside this here Dodge Ram, you know. Dude thought he was tuner," Crimson chuckled as he recalled an old dirt drag to Robert. "Anyway, the stupid sucker tries to ram me, so I hit the brakes, and the guy swings off the road, hits an earth ramp, and sails into an old barn on this piece of property we were on. I win, get about $2000; he loses, gets $8000 worth of damage."

The two 4X4s laugh riotously. After choking back a few tears from laughing so hard, Robert started to tell his own story. "That sounds similar to this one incident I had once. I was, uh, outside of Atlanta on leave, and this gang of muscle cars and their tuner girlfriends pulls up around me, and in a really southern accent, their leader goes, 'wanna drag, soldier boy?'"

The pick-up truck snickered a little before continuing. "Anyway, we pull up to a red light. Light turns green, the race is on. This hot-rodder Trans-Am attempts to sideswipe me two times. On the third time, I'm ready for him. I stop, my brakes lock-up, the Trans-Am bounces off the wall of a building, and I'm completely turned around. The Trans-Am corrects himself, so instead of taking the time to swing around and face forward, I continue the race backwards. I win, in reverse, and I took all of the tuner girls back to my hotel room."

"Oh shut up," Crimson said, not believing the part about the tuner girls.

"Okay, fine, I took home two of the girls," Robert said truthfully.

Crimson nodded and laughed slyly, impressed. "Sweet."

"Totally. Thank god for reverse," Robert chirped.

The Cherokee gave a hearty "Amen!" The two vehicles chuckled before Crimson continued. "I didn't know you were in the army. You look nothing like an army truck. Where's the camo and stuff?"

"Well, when you join, they paint you up with standard green camouflage," Robert explained, "And when you leave, they repaint you like you were."

"How long were you in the army?" the Jeep asked.

"Few years," Robert sighed. "I didn't know what to do after I dropped out of UT. I couldn't find a major, so I thought, 'why bother?' I joined the army so I could figure out what to do with my life, but I couldn't. Just been drifting around the country since."

Crimson shrugged and said, "Eh, that's cool. What else can you do?"

"Boys, I'm closing up shop now," Flo said, breaking up the conversation between to the two young cars. "You two better head for the meeting."

"Okay, Flo, we're going," Crimson replied as he hit the release for his gas pump. Robert did the same, and the three cars drove toward Town Hall.

----

"...and this will up the charge of 'tractor-tipping' from a misdemeanor to a felony," Doc read off the list of announcements to the crowd. Mater could be heard groaning within the room.

"Uh, over the next few weeks, NASCAR racers will be coming here for their fall training sessions, so expect traffic to be congested a little from the racers, their fans, and the press. A week from Tuesday, we have skater Vinny Buzzard coming here for his TV special, 'Buzzard's Extreme Half-Pipe Challenge.'" The Hornet paused and looked quizzically at the paper before muttering, "Is this what's passing for television these days? Uh, anyway..."

In the back row, Crimson glanced around the room. _For such a small town, their courtroom is awfully big, _Crimson thought. The room was packed with cars and trucks, even a few vehicles in the aisles. _I guess Radiator Springs isn't so small after all._

"And on a final note," Doc said, a hint of cheer in his voice, "A month from Wednesday will be the Annual Carburetor County Festival. We're going to have dancing, music, games, truck-n-tractor pulls, and great food, so I hope you all come down. And that being said, this meeting is adjourned."

As the residents exited the room, Lightning and Sally sat in the front row for a minute. The red stock car turned to the Porsche, and asked like a shy teenager, "You wanna go to the dance with me?"

Sally laughed at the racer. "You use that same stupid schtick every year. Of course I'll go with you, Stickers." She pecked him on the fender as the two drove out of the courtroom.

As they reached the door, Mater popped up in front of the two cars. "Hey there, Lightning. Hi Sally," he said, a huge grin on his face.

"Hey Mater," Sally said, knowing what the tow truck was grinning about. "Listen, I think this year, I'll be going with Lightning to the dance, okay?"

"What? No, I wasn't gonna ask you that," Mater said. "I'm here to tell you you got a visitor."

The tow truck pulled out of the way to reveal a teenage, 2004 VW Jetta. "Hi Aunt Sally!"

"Becky!" The Porsche sped over the Volkswagon and they leaned onto each others' sides. (Like a car "hug") "You drive here by yourself? What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you," the Jetta answered. "And your boyfriend." She glanced at McQueen and let out a giggle. "I never thought my aunt would ever hook up with a NASCAR racer." She let out another excited giggle.

The stock car in question didn't say anything, a surprised look on his face as he examined the mystery Jetta. "...Did she call you 'aunt'?" he finally asked.

Mater laughed at Lightning and said, "Lightning, this here's Becky Carerra. She Ms. Sally's niece from California."

"Niece? How come you know this and I don't?" Lightning asked Mater.

"She and Sally's brother came here to visit one time, when she was 14," the tow truck explained. He turned back to the Jetta and asked, "How is your old man, Becky?"

"He's fine," Becky answered. "Still working at the firm."

"How come you never told me you had siblings?" McQueen asked the Porsche next to him.

"You never asked, Stickers," Sally simply replied.

**Meanwhile...**

"Vinny Buzzard?" Crimson said in disbelief as he slowly exited the courtroom. "I don't even understand the logic in him coming here."

"More than likely, he'll try to pull a prank on that McQueen guy for publicity," Robert commented. "He does crap like that all the time on his TV show."

The courtroom had almost emptied out when a familiar voice behind the Jeep and the Ford yelled, "Hey Alpines!"

_Ah hell,_ Crimson thought to himself, rolling his eyes. The two 4x4s turned to face the blue tuner from the boot camp. What they came face-to-face with, however, was not just the blue panel truck, but a muscle car and two imports as well, all with evil smirks on their face.

"Great. Three more of them," Robert muttered.

"Don't tell me you're friends with these NOS-heads," the Jeep asked DJ.

"Who, these guys?" DJ said innocently. "Yeah, they're with me."

"Your gonna be wishin' you never entered our turf, gas-guzzler," Boost said. The four cars snickered evilly.

_What a joke, _Crimson thought, sneering at the four tuners. He turned to Robert and said, "Come on man. Let's get out of here before Boombox gets cocky and I paint the walls with his oil."

"Ooo, the Jeepster's mad," Wingo cooed as the four cars followed slowly behind the pick-up and the SUV.

Out in the hall, Crimson and Robert pulled up to a door, the tuners lining up behind them. Crimson tried to force the door open, but it wouldn't budge. The Jeep looked around for another exit, muttering, "This is a fire hazard-"

The Jeep froze. _...is that her?_

He squinted. _No way. This has got to be a coincidence._

The crowd in front of him thinned out, and by the main entrance he could see the 2004 charcoal-colored Jetta he saw out at the boot camp, talking to Sally, Lightning, and Mater.

Robert nudged the spaced-out Cherokee with his tire. "Dude, what's the hold-up?"

"What's the matter?" Snot Rod chided. "Afraid you're gonna get whipped?"

Robert ignored the muscle car and searched the crowded hallway for what Crimson was staring at. His eyes widened when he finally saw the Jetta. "Whoa, what a hottie!"

The four tuners perked up at the Ford's outburst and searched the hallway for this "hottie" as well, finally seeing her between the cars leaving Town Hall. The tuners began whistling and doing cat-calls.

"My, my, my, she's quite a little traffic hazard," Wingo said slyly.

"Check out the chrome on her back bumper, man," Snot Rod added.

"I wouldn't mind bumping into her 'by accident,'" Boost coyly said.

"She's cute," Robert said to his now-catatonic friend. He nudged Crimson again and said, "Come on man. Go talk to her."

DJ laughed. "Please, dawg. Your boy Alpines is a little out of his league on this. There's no way that a fine honey like her would even go near a junker like him." Laughs ensued from the three other tuners.

Crimson, however, didn't hear DJ. Or any of the other guys, as he was too busy gawking at the girl car. He was just blown away that this beautiful girl was actually meters away from him, when earlier he thought he was just seeing things. He could feel something, deep in his engine, that he never even felt before.

The Jetta glanced over at the six cars at the end of the hallway, and locked eyes with the beat-up Cherokee. Crimson suddenly realized he was gawking, and looked down at the floor shyly. She smiled at his shyness, and turned back to Sally.

Robert said, "Dude, ignore the tuners and go talk to her."

"N-Naw, man," Crimson stammered. "Besides, sh-she looks busy, talking to Lightning and Sally."

The truck shrugged. "Eh, all right. HEY PRETTY GIRL!!"

The Jetta, as well as Lightning, Mater, Sally, and every other remaining car in the hallway, looked at the truck with the cowboy hat, the Cherokee next to him now with a terrified look on his face.

"My friend wants to talk to you," Robert said as he shoved Crimson in her direction. The SUV scampered frantically as he tried to get a grip on the slick wood floor, but he just sailed across the hallway.

Crimson hit his emergency brake, and came to a screeching halt in front of the Jetta. "Damn these waxed floors," he remarked bitterly. He looked up and was met with those stark, striking blue eyes of the Jetta.

He smiled and chuckled nervously. _I'm gonna screw this up and make an idiot of myself; I just know it, _his conscience said miserably, noticing all the eyes looking at him. "Uh, h-hi."

"...um, hi," The Jetta said back, her brow arched and a faint grin on her lips.

"Becky, this is Crimson," Sally said, introducing the teenagers to each other. "He's the boy I was telling you about. Crimson, this is my niece, Becky."

"So, you're the guy working for Sarge?" Becky asked. "How is he?"

"...uh, who? Oh yeah, Sarge! He-He's, um, cool," the Jeep stammered.

"Hasn't been too hard on you, has he?"

"Naw, he's not hard at all. He's very... uh very... uh, he's cool."

There was an awkward pause between the two young cars. The Jetta continued, "Uh, so what happened to you? Were you in an accident?"

"Oh, yeah," Crimson said, acting like it wasn't a big deal. "It was a few weeks back. Just a little roll-over."

"Looks more like a big roll-over."

"Well, not all of this damage was from the roll-over," Crimson explained. "Once I scrape a tree, got stuck between a wall and a pillar-"

"Hit a cactus," Mater added.

"Hit a cactus," Crimson repeated. "Just a lot of little accidents." The Jeep maneuvered around the Volkswagon towards the door. "Uh, I should probably be going. Sarge probably needs my help at the store." He shoved the door, but it didn't open. "What the hell's wrong with these friggin' doors?" he growled to himself.

"Uh, wait Crimson," Becky said. "Do you want to get a drink later at Flo's?"

The Jeep paused, and turned back to Becky. "It'd be nice to talk to someone my age," she added.

"...yeah, sure! That sounds wonderful," Crimson chirped happily.

"Okay, it'll be in about an hour," the Jetta said as she approached the door. "Lightning and Sally are going to give me a tour of the new places in Radiator Springs." She hit a release for the door (That Crimson didn't notice earlier) and said, "See you later."

"Bye," Crimson returned as he watched the Jetta leave.

"Shoot boy," Mater said to the teenager, "You were acting more nervous than a stalled car in the path of a train. I don't see what you'd be nervous about; Ms. Becky's the nice little gal you'd ever meet."

Crimson didn't pay any attention to Mater as he glanced over himself. "My god, I'm a mess," he muttered to himself. "Igottago!"

The Jeep peeled out of Town Hall and raced over to Luigi's place, leaving the other three cars sitting there, befuddled. "...I think he likes your niece," Lightning said to Sally.

----

Luigi and Guido were busy taking inventory when they heard a set of bald tires roll into their tire shop. Luigi spun around to see a familiar-looking Cherokee. "Ah, Mister Alpines," Luigi said happily. "I take it you've come to your senses on the tires."

The Fiat let out a yelp as the young Jeep shoved him against a wall and parked right in front of him, a determined look in his eyes. "Listen up Luigi, and you listen good," Crimson said sternly. "I don't have time for any of your nonsense; just get me the best damn 4x4 tires you got. No white walls, no racing tires, just tires with big, fat treads that'd make a Hummer envious of me."

"...I-I have some Lightyear Ranger XLs in the back," Luigi said cautiously.

"Ring it up!" Crimson barked.

Guido and Luigi zoomed into the back room. "Uh, I got some new rims back here that look similar to yours, if you want them," the Fiat called out.

"I'll take them."

Guido and Luigi came out, the forklift carrying five tires and five boxes. "Uh, Mister Alpines, this is going to be expensive. How will you pay for this?"

"Send the check to Lightning McQueen," Crimson said. "McQueen said he'd pay my bills; I'm gonna hold him to it. Bring that stuff over to Ramone's in a couple of minutes."

----

"Ramone!"

The newly-painted lowrider turned to face a young SUV in his garage. "Hey Crimson. What's up?"

"How quickly can you fix me up?" The young Jeep asked.

"...why? You leaving town shortly?"

"No, I have an engagement in an hour or so. I wanna look good," Crimson answered.

"Oh. Okay," Ramone said. He set down his paint brush and drove over to a closet. "Well, normally, it'd take three hours with the amount of damage you got, but since my supplier gave me a lot of surplus Jeep parts-"

He opened the closet, revealing brand-new, unpainted parts- doors, plastic fender parts, an antenna, headlights, the works. "...I can have you in and out in about 45 minutes. By the time I'm done, no one will even recognize you."

The Cherokee, a grin on his face, said, "Beautiful! Ramone, trick me out!"

----

An hour passed, and Becky had seen just about everything new Radiator Springs had to offer, Lightning's racing headquarters and the Wheel Well being the main attractions.

Back to town, the Jetta and the elder cars (Now including Mater and Doc) just cruised back-and-forth down main street, making small talk, until Mater asked why the college girl was back in Radiator Springs.

"I had to get away from Gary. And his friends too," Becky admitted. "He's just become too much of a pain to deal with."

"Did you break up with him?" Sally asked.

"I did," Becky answered, "I mean, I tried, I guess..."

"You guess??" Mater queried.

"It was complicated. I said good-bye, he didn't believe me. I went for the door, he said 'you know you can't resist this.' I open the door, he comes up next to me and asks what's wrong. I call him a machostic-selfish-pretty-boy, and I leave."

"Sounds like a break-up to me," the tow truck said.

"Yes, but Gary doesn't register things like you and me," the Jetta explained. "He thinks that because he's rich and a jock and can go from 0-60 in under four seconds and has a new paint job every week, he can control the school and have anything he wants. Including any girl of his choosing. So if someone says no, his brain, like, blocks it out. And if they say no too many times, he goes into the defensive and gets aggressive. Luckily, I left before he could get aggressive, but I can imagine he's tarnished my image throughout the campus by now."

"Man, that sounds pretty bad," Lightning replied.

"Oh, I'm sorry Becky," Sally said, nudging the Jetta.

"Don't be," Becky said. "It's my own fault."

The four cars did doubletakes at the Jetta. "Your fault? How'd you figure?" Lightning inquired.

"Because I always end up dating guys like Gary," she huffed. "It's like I've been stuck in this cycle for two years; some pathetic psuedo-tuner manages to get me to swoon at the sight of him, their charisma fades away after the first few dates, I stay with him because he's cute and/or rich, then a nasty break-up, and the process repeats! I don't even know why I put myself through that again and again. I'm a sucker; I'm pathetic!"

"Becky, don't say that," Doc said sternly-but-tenderly. "You are not a sucker, and you're not pathetic. You're just- ...uh..."

"...horny?" the red stock car suggested.

**WHAP!** "Lightning!" Sally said in a hushed voice after she smacked him with a tire.

"Look, Becky, don't worry about it," Doc continued. "When the right guy comes along, you'll know it."

Becky just shrugged and grunted, having already heard that saying time-and-time again.

Suddenly, two high-pitch shrieks caused the group of cars to stop in their tracks. "LIGHTNING!!"

"They're back again??" Sally said in disbelief as she watched two red Miatas race towards the stock car next to her. McQueen just laughed to himself.

**SCREEECH!!** "Hi Lightning!" the twin cars said in unison.

"Hi Mia, Tia," McQueen said as he attached a pen (hidden in his wheel-well) to one of his rims. "So, what can I do for you two girls? Photograph, bobble-car, plushie?"

"Actually, this isn't for us," Mia said.

"We've brought some of our friends this time," Tia added.

"Friends?" McQueen glanced over to two cars to see three more female cars coming towards the group: a white BWM X5 SUV, a yellow Subaru Baja, and a silver Saab hatchback.

The X5 said, "I wish you two would slow down. I might be a Beemer, but I can't handle curves like you guys."

"Yeah, sorry Cici," Mia apologized to the SUV.

"Lightning, this is Cici," Tia said, introducing the other cars. "The Baja is Rose, and the Saab is Kelly."

"Oh, you're right. He's so much cuter in person," the Baja cooed.

"Here's our stuff, Mr. McQueen," Cici said, opening her hatchback door, dumping out some plush toys and photos, and pushed them in front of the stock car. "Would you sign them, please?"

"Oh course I will," Lightning said. "I never turn down a fan."

As the stock car began signing the girls' stuff, the four resident tuners parked behind the group of cars, keeping a close eye on the female vehicles. "Look at that, boys," Boost said. "We got the pick of the litter!"

The tuners chuckled lecherously. "Take your pick. Wingo, who do you got?"

"The twins!" he said, almost salivating.

"Which one?" DJ asked.

"Both, I don't care!" The other three teens laughed at the green import.

Boost looked at the muscle car next to him. "Snot Rod man, what about you?"

A dreamy look in his eyes, he drawled out, "Sally..."

The three tuner cars rolled their eyes and groaned. It was common knowledge that the muscle car had a crush on the resident Porsche, which Snot Rod didn't bother to hide from the whole town (Much to McQueen's displeasure). "Dude, that's an order even I can't fulfill," Boost said. He shoved him with his tire and said, "Try again."

After a small grunt of annoyance and disappointment, the muscle car started eyeing Kelly. "I think I'll go with the Saab," he said. "She looks kind of cute."

"Better, man," Boost said. "I think I'm going after the Subaru. She'll be in for quite a treat."

The import turned to the panel truck. "That leaves you, DJ. What'll it be?"

The blue tuner looked at Cici, then at Becky. A grin formed on his face. "The Volkswagon."

"The Jetta, man?" Snot Rod asked. "Why her?"

"One, the Beemer's a little big for me," DJ explained, "And two, to smite Alpines."

The tuner snickered evilly. "I can't wait to see the look on that junker's face when he sees me with his little crush."

**Meanwhile...**

As Lightning signed some plush toys for the girls, he sensed the presence of two other cars come up on his right side. "Uh, if you want an autograph, just give me a minute."

"McQueen, it's me," Sarge said.

The racer glanced up at the military Jeep, the red-and-ivory Ford next to him. "Hey Sarge. What's up?"

"Have you seen Alpines around?" Sarge asked. "I could use his help for a minute."

"I haven't seen him since the end of the meeting. Don't know where he went."

"Hmmm," Sarge grunted. "This is rather unlike him. He doesn't just disappear like this."

A loud rumble from Ramone's House of Body Art made everyone stop for a second and glance at the building. The windows vibrated as the engine of a car inside revved up.

"Sounds like Ramone's got a customer," Mater said to no one in particular.

The garage door went up...

**SCREEEEEEECH!!**

...and everyone stopped and stared as a deep-red Jeep Cherokee zoomed out of the garage and came to a screeching halt in front of them.

Then their eyes widened in surprise when they realized who the Cherokee was.

"Damn! I didn't realize a turbo-charger was that powerful," The Jeep said in a familiar voice, panting in excitement from the rush he got from his new turbo-charger.

"Crimson!" Sally said in astonishment.

"Daggum!"

"Oh my god!" Robert chuckled as he drove over to the Cherokee. "Dude, is that you?"

"You better believe it, man!" the Jeep said. "Check it out, Ramone made this special 'hide-away' attachment for my winch!" The Jeep "nodded" his front bumper, and a new winch swung up from his undercarriage and clicked into place under his bumper.

The Ford in front of him laughed and said, "Awesome, man!"

The other cars sat there, staring at the Jeep they knew was Crimson, but, at the same time, didn't believe it was him. The dents and bare metal on his body were gone, now all painted in his shimmering deep-red hue. His faded grey side-rails, roof-rack, door handles, fender-corners, and side mirrors now all-new, dark-grey pieces. His cracked windows were also gone, and his bald tires were replaced with new Lightyear Ranger XLs, complete with rims! The battered teenaged Cherokee they knew was now a surprisingly handsome SUV... which the girls noticed.

Lightning's fangirls dropped their memorabilia and drove over to the Cherokee, circling him. "Hey big guy," Cici said, the X5 looking over the mysterious stranger.

"Look at you," Rose purred, "Right out of the showroom."

"Are you seeing anyone, by chance?" Mia asked, brushing against the Jeep.

Crimson chuckled heartily. "Sorry girls, but I do have a prior engagement." Collective disappointed "ah"s came from the five fangirls as Crimson parked himself front of Becky. "You ready for that drink?"

_...oh my god,_ Becky thought to herself. _He's so... hot. _

Becky snapped out of her trance. "Um, yeah. Sure... Crimson."

The Cherokee and the Jetta drove over to the cafe, the other cars still looking at him in disbelief.

Of course, the tuners were just as surprised of the transformation was anyone else. And, since their future dates had their attention drawn to Crimson, they were more than envious of the Jeep. "I can't believe it," DJ said in humilation. "The gas-guzzler's a frickin' pretty boy!"

"No man," Boost said to his friend. "Gas-Guzzler's a player."

"Man, even Sally was gawkin' at him!" Snot Rod pouted.

Wingo rolled his eyes at the muscle car and muttered, "Shut up." He looked over at DJ. "What now, dawg?"

The blue tuner's eyes narrowed as he glared at the Jeep from across the street. "We'll get him. When we're done with him, he'll be a dead junker."


	7. The Race: Part I

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me. Remember that now.

**NOTES: **Sorry about the long delay; this is easily the hardest chapter I've written yet. I've decided to break it into two parts since I got a lot of stuff going on in this chapter. Anyway, enjoy.

----

**Chapter 7: The Race, Part I**

"We've got a left curve ahead!" Allen yelled to Roger over the roar of his engine as the two police cruisers pursued two assailants... which were Crimson and Robert.

The two 4x4s weren't in trouble. They were helping out with training exercises for the Sheriff. Doc, Sarge, and the three police cruisers agreed to cut Robert's time for the racing incident if he'd help with an off road pursuit exercise for the two Crown Vics. Crimson heard about the exercise through Sarge, and asked to join in.

Needless to say, the truck and the SUV put the young cars through their paces.

"We got a curve up ahead," Crimson yelled over the sirens behind them. "Wanna take a detour?"

"Well, Sarge said, 'do the unexpected,'" Robert replied, grinning. "I think that would be _unexpected_."

Crimson snickered, and the two vehicles let out a joyous holler as they jumped off the elevated dirt road onto the desert floor, the two Crown Vics following behind. _Who knew all those dirt drags would pay off?_ Crimson thought, smiling proudly.

"Come on boys," Allen said, a cocky smile on his face. "You can do better than that."

The four vehicles jumped over rocks and thread-the-needle through cactus like fighter jets, the two Crown Vics trailing behind the 4x4s. "I think they're getting tired," Robert said.

"They ain't tired; it's a trick," Crimson said. "They slow down, they think we'll slow down, then they'll try to sideswipe us. Go faster!"

The Ford and the Jeep accelerated. Crimson then saw a dirt road ahead through the shrubs and tumbleweeds. "Wait a minute," Crimson recanted. "Slow down!"

"What? Why?"

"There's a road up ahead! Let's throw the deputies a curve-ball," the SUV said. The truck smiled at the Jeep knowingly.

Behind them, the deputies saw the tail lights on the two vehicles light up as they slowed down. "I'd told you it'd work," Roger said to Allen. "Let's get 'em!"

The Crown Vics sped up, hoping to get ahead and block them.

Suddenly, the pick-up and the Jeep took a hard left onto a dirt road the deputies hadn't seen in front of them. Roger and Allen, going too fast, jumped over the road and landed onto a cactus patch on the opposite side. Crimson and Robert laughed as they heard the two cars far behind them let out a few expletives.

Allen emerged from the cactus patch, a slightly deranged look in his eyes. "Now I'm pissed!" he growled. He started his engine again and sped off, more than determined to get the two 4x4s. Roger followed after the other Crown Vic.

The cruisers soon caught up to the truck and SUV. Since the dirt road was straighter and smoother than the other roads on the course, the two faster cars had the advantage and were catching up to the bigger vehicles. "We got them!" Roger said. The two police cars split up and took both side of the road, hoping to get ahead of the 4x4s and block them.

As the police cruisers began to pass the two larger vehicles, Crimson and Robert hit their emergency brakes, and jumped back off the dirt road, cutting a path through the desert. "Ah crap," Roger groaned as he and Allen swung off the road, following the two vehicles.

----

Becky winced a little as the twins screamed out excitedly, "Here they come!"

The training exercises had become an event for the citizens of Radiator Springs, since there wasn't much to do. All of the town had come out to Sarge's boot camp to witness it, except the tuners for some reason.

Cheers could be heard as Crimson and Robert cut across the field onto the dirt path, Allen and Roger in pursuit. The truck and the SUV were giving it all they had, straining their engines to stay ahead of the cruisers.

"How fast are they going?" Lightning asked the Mercury Police Cruiser next to him.

Sheriff looked at the radar gun attached to his fender, his eyes widening in surprise. "130! And faster! I didn't know trucks and Jeeps could go that fast," he said in amazement.

Robert and Crimson glanced up at the excited screams of Lightning's fangirls. They looked at each other, grinning, then they both did a complete 180-degree turn, driving in reverse. Cheers erupted from the crowd at their feat. Robert, in a McQueen-esque fashion, winked at Cici, making the X5 let out a dreamy sigh.

"Show-off," Roger murmured.

Robert laughed and proclaimed, "Man, I love this!" Crimson and Robert spun back around and continued the exercise.

After a while, Roger and Allen finally figured out a way to outsmart the 4x4s. The dirt road cut through a tall embankment, so the two police cars split up on opposite sides of the embankment, racing over the top.

Robert glanced in one of his side mirrors, and realized the two cars were gone. "They ain't following us!"

"Really?" Crimson asked in disbelief.

He looked down the path and saw the police cruisers emerge from opposite sides of the embankment, blocking the road. "Shoot!"

The Cherokee and the F350 hit their emergency brakes, coming to a halt in front of Allen and Roger. "I do believe you two gas-guzzlers are under arrest," Allen said confidently.

Crimson chuckled. "Whatever, Allen."

----

"So Deputies, no hard feelings about the cactus patch?" Robert asked, grinning.

"I'm cool, Camino," Roger answered, shrugging. He glanced at the cruiser next to him. "Allen? What about you?"

"Eh, I'm all right, I guess," he mumbled, a slightly hostile tone in his voice. The girls giggled at Allen's response.

"So Robert, now that you are technically a free man," Crimson said to the truck next to him, "What's your plans? Leaving?"

"Naw. I'm staying for a while. This place _is_ kind of cool." The Ford glanced at the red stock car across from him. "I mean, I get to hang out in the same town with Lightning McQueen, dude!"

The other cars at the Drive-In Cafe laughed at the truck's remark. After the laughter died down, Crimson said, "Speaking of racers, has anybody seen the tuners?"

"No"s came from most of the other vehicles. "No. After the boot camp, DJ usually disappears and I don't see him until the next morning," Sarge said. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Crimson said, shrugging. "I just haven't seen them since I got my repairs. And got this really paranoid feeling hanging over me that they're gonna... I don't know, do something."

"You're probably getting that paranoia from Sarge, man," Fillmore said.

"I'm not paranoid," Sarge said defensively. "Need I remind you, you're the one with the conspiracy theories on the oil companies."

"You're the one that keeps stockpiling gas rations for when the Japanese imports buy out OPEC," Fillmore shot back lazily.

The young Cherokee rolled his eyes as the hippie and the veteran got into an argument. He glanced to the space next to him and noticed it was empty. He looked up and saw a glimpse of Becky's taillights as she left the cafe, driving down main street.

He hit the release for his pump and drove out, following her. He pulled up alongside her quietly.

"Becky?"

The VW jumped a little at the sound of his voice. "Oh, hi Crimson."

"Where you going?" He asked.

"I'm going to bed," Becky answered as she pulled up to Lightning and Sally's garage, trying to not make eye contact with him.

"'Going to bed'? It's only 8:30. Besides, Sally said she's giving you tomorrow off."

"I know, but I... just want to turn in early."

She was lying. Since Crimson had driven out of Ramone's, Becky had developed a huge crush on the Jeep. But she was wary to express her feelings, as those exact same feelings had gotten her stuck in five bad relationships in two years, including Gary. She was forcing herself to wait, hoping everything would work itself out.

Crimson, of course, had a crush on the Jetta since seeing her drive down the road at the boot camp days ago. And with each passing day, it was becoming harder to control. The Cherokee almost got into trouble with Sarge when the elder Jeep caught him "abandoning his post" so he could help Becky wash some windows at the Cozy Cone. By now, he'd do anything to spend more time with Becky so he could warm up to her, and possibly ask her out.

"Oh, come on! Let's go someplace and hang out," he pleaded.

"Go someplace? Like where?"

The Jeep paused. _Shoot. Where to go, where to go..._

"Uh, McQueen was telling me about a dirt track outside of town. What was it called; uh..."

"Willy's Butte?" she asked.

"Yeah, that's it. Come on, let's go for a little night race. It'll be fun!"

Becky finally gave in. "...okay, speed demon. You win. Let's go for a race."

----

The Cherokee looked in his side mirror at the Jetta tailgating him, the two cars climbing the curved wall of Willy's Butte. "I told you'd this be fun," he called out.

"Yeah, it is," Becky said, smiling. "Man, I miss doing this."

Crimson and Becky leaped off the curved wall and landed back on the flat part of the track, whooping and laughing. They looked ahead at the upcoming turn. Crimson slowed down.

"Uh, you go first."

Becky rolled her eyes at his chivalry, and accelerated into the curve, drifting like Doc had taught her years ago. Crimson followed behind, doing the same.

Crimson watched her drift, noting how her body looked in the moonlight. The faint blue light accentuated her curves as it glistened off her paint, making the Volkswagon look angelic.

_God, she's beautiful, _Crimson thought dreamily.

Unfortunately, the Jeep was too busy gawking to pay attention to the road and forgot to stop turning. He looked forward... and saw a big cactus in his way.

"AAAAAA!!" **WHOMP! **

"...ow."

Becky noticed that the set of headlights behind her were gone. She glanced in her side mirror, and in the faint moonlight saw Crimson out in the island of the track, covered with dirt and surrounded by a dust cloud.

She gasped, thinking Crimson had crashed. Becky hit her brakes and spun around, racing back to the Cherokee.

"What is it with me and cactus?" Crimson muttered as he spit out a chunk of the cactus he mutilated. Becky slid to a halt next to him.

"Ohmygosh! Crimson, are you alright?" she panted worriedly.

"I'm okay, Becky," he reassured her, shaking the cactus chunks and dirt off him. "I just hit a cactus. Again."

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. Really, I am. I've been through worse, mind you. "

The Cherokee and the Jetta slowly drove back onto the dirt track, Becky looking at the red 4x4 with concern. Crimson noticed this.

"Becky, really, I'm okay, all right?" he said as he moved around to face her, smiling. "See, look at me. No damage. Granted, those prickley things hurt, but I'll live."

Becky finally smiled, relieved that her friend was all right. The two teenagers stared at each other, but not in a dreamy, lovey way. A mischievous grin began to form on Crimson's face.

"...what?" Becky asked, giggling as she studied Crimson's goofy expression.

Crimson opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it and shook his body. "No, I probably shouldn't."

He turned away from her and drove slowly down the track. The Jetta followed, intrigued by Crimson's odd behavior. "Probably shouldn't what?"

"Oh, I just wanted to do a little trick I did when I was a kid."

"What, what was it?" she asked.

Crimson stopped, glanced at her, and backed up. "Ah heck. Come with me."

The SUV and the car drove around the curve of the track. On the other side, Crimson snapped up his winch and hooked on under Becky's front bumper. "Okay, slip into neutral, and let your momentum do the rest," he told her.

That's when it clicked to her - Crimson was going to "crack the whip!"

"Hang on!"

Crimson started his engine again, and peeled out in reverse, pulling Becky along with him. As they rounded the curve at 50 miles per hours, Crimson let out some cable from his winch. When the track started to straighten out, Crimson quickly retracted his cable, hit his emergency brakes, and did a 180-degree turn, flinging the Jetta down the dirt track.

Becky screamed in exhilaration as she shot down the track like a stock car. She had enough momentum that she went around the curved wall.

When the track straightened out again, she slipped into drive and accelerated down the dirt track, stopping next to the Jeep.

"Wasn't that fun?" Crimson asked.

"Yeah! Do it again, do it again," she giggled.

They went around the curve and did it again. This time, they started back a little further than before, giving the Jeep more speed. Crimson flung her hard enough that she almost went around the entire track.

When Becky got to the turn, she started to drift as usual. But suddenly, she hit a bump in the track. Becky felt her tires leave the ground for moment, and suddenly she was going sideways... towards the cliff, where below was a large cactus patch.

Becky screamed again, this time in fright. Crimson spun around and saw her heading for the cliff.

"BECKY!"

The Jeep sped over and threw out his hook, catching her by the front bumper. Becky jerked to a stop, inches away from the cliff.

Crimson drove up to her, stopping right in her grill. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

There was a pause between the two cars as they locked eyes again. Crimson instinctively started to retract his winch slowly, pulling along Becky until they were bumper-to-bumper... and he kissed her.

At first, Becky was surprised by the act, but soon relaxed into her suspension and turned on her hazard lights. Crimson soon did the same, and pulled her in tighter with his winch. One car expected the other to pull away eventually, but they didn't have the willpower to do so.

Suddenly, four sets of headlights clicked on behind Crimson, startling the two teens and breaking off the kiss. "Hey, what gives?!" Crimson barked in annoyance as he spun around to face the culprits.

He was met with a familiar snicker. "Sorry Jeepster, did we interrupt something?"

The lights clicked off, revealing Wingo, Boost, DJ, and Snot Rod.

Becky gasped, frightened by the four strangers, and moved closer to Crimson. Boost pulled up in front of her. "It's okay, baby. We're not gonna hurt you."

"Get away from her!" Crimson shoved the import away from Becky with his tire.

Boost glared at the SUV, but then his expression softened and he chuckled, "I'm gonna let that slide for right now."

"What do you guys want?"

"What do you think we want, gas-guzzler?" DJ barked angrily, pulling out in front of the other cars. "We want payback! You throw Wingo in the trash, insulted me in front of a crowd, and then you took McQueen's groupies from us! Now you're gonna pay for invading our turf!"

Crimson rolled his eyes at the blue tuner, letting out an exasperated sigh. _Good lord, what an arrogant dipstick,_ he groaned to himself. "Becky, let's roll."

The Jeep and the VW turned to leave. But the tuners weren't about to let them go.

The four cars surrounded Crimson and Becky, blocking them in. Snot Rod and Boost pinned the Cherokee between them, while Wingo and DJ did the same to the Jetta.

DJ, pressing against Becky's right front fender, caught a whiff of a pleasing scent from the female car and grinned. "You smell nice, cutey," he said lecherously.

This put Crimson into a rage. "LET US GO!" he roared, thrashing against Snot Rod and Boost. The black-and-purple import finally leaped up and punched the Jeep in the eye - not too hard, but hard enough to catch his attention and get him to stop moving.

"You friggin' NOS-Head; that hurt!"

"Yeah, well, it hurts when you bang against me," Boost shot back. "Besides, this paint job costs more than all your repairs, fool."

Aggravated, Crimson asked, "Okay, what will it take to get you guys to leave me and Becky alone? You want me to apologize, leave town, what??"

"We want a race, dawg," Wingo jeered. "The loser gives the winner absolute respect; no names, no back-talk."

"Respect?? The day I respect a bunch of rice-rockets is the day hell freezes over," Crimson snapped at the import. "You want a race, we wager. $5000. Take it or leave it."

DJ glanced at Boost, looking for approval. The import shrugged.

"...okay Alpines, you got yourself a race," DJ said.


	8. The Race: Part II

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own the film "Cars." "Cars" is owned by Disney and Pixar Studios. I also do not own any of the vehicle brands mentioned in the fic. However, the new characters in this fic are own by me. Remember that now.

----

**Chapter 8: The Race, Part II**

Decades ago, the (then-current) residents of Radiator Springs first got word of a new interstate when a construction crew had built an access road, leading up to the top of one of the many plateaus in the valley. The site was located only a few miles from the Sheriff's speed trap, and it was used to survey the area for the best place to put the interstate.

Since then, no one had paid much attention to it. It had fallen into a state of disrepair, and only used by Sarge whenever he would survey the area. Aside from the town's veteran, no one else had used it since.

Until tonight.

The tuner cars had first discovered this road after they decided to check out private roads to race on. (So they wouldn't have to deal with the Sheriff) They knew Sarge would occasionally use it, but that was rare. It was deemed fit enough for the tuners, and they decided to put it to use that night.

"This access road leads up to the top of that plateau," DJ explained, motioning to the road. "First one on top wins." He glanced at the red Jeep Cherokee across from him. "Hope you're not a sore loser, road-hog."

The tuners snickered at DJ's remark.

"Don't get cocky, Boombox," Crimson warned the tuner, a cold stare in his eyes. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

DJ just laughed at the SUV before turning to his friends to discuss strategy.

Crimson turned to face the charcoal-colored VW Jetta with him, who was obviously agitated by this whole experience. "Crimson-" she started in a pleading tone, only to be cut off by the 4x4.

"If any of those guys make a move toward you, floor it. Keep going until you get to the speed trap; Sheriff or one of the deputies should be there-"

"Crimson, this is stupid," she cried out. "I mean, this guy is a tuner; you're not going to be able to win against him! Just tell them the race is off, please? I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"...one, thank you for the vote of confidence," he said sarcastically, stung by her bluntness. "Two, don't worry about me. Right now, I'm more concerned about leaving you alone with Boombox's friends. Just remember what I said, okay?"

Crimson drove up to the starting line, painted on the ground by Wingo minutes earlier. DJ drove up next to him, holding his bumper high in confidence.

DJ glanced at the red gas-guzzler next to him and grinned. "Easiest $5000 I'm ever gonna make," he muttered smugly.

"Okay boys, fire 'em up!" Boost said.

The tuner and the SUV started their engines, and braced themselves for the race.

Wingo held out a wheel, its normally green neon lighting now red. The light changed to yellow... then finally to green.

"GO!" Wingo shouted.

The two cars peeled out, engines roaring as they took off down the stretch of road. Snot Rod, Boost, and Wingo cheered on their friend. Boost called out, "Whip his ass, DJ!"

Becky sat on the other side of the road, watching the pairs of taillights disappear in the distance. A dreadful feeling swept over her, like she knew something bad was going to happen.

----

DJ, being naturally faster, was ahead of Crimson. But the rough terrain was slowing the tuner down as he bounced up-and-down the dirt road, and Crimson was catching up.

The bumps were taking their toll on the import as he felt the CD system in his back end starting to fall apart. _Don't worry, _his conscience reassured him. _You can use that $5000 you're gonna win to fix it._ DJ grinned to himself and accelerated.

Crimson was pushing himself to get ahead of the other vehicle. His engine was screaming as he reached 140 MPH, faster than he ever could (or should) go on a dirt road, thanks to his turbo-charger. Speeding over the uneven road, a giddy sensation came over the SUV as he rose and fell with each small hill he flew over, adding to his increasing adrenalin rush. _Just like the old days,_ he thought.

That sensation was soon replaced by panic when Crimson hit a rabbit hole in the road. He was almost tailgating DJ when the Jeep started fishtailing wildly, in the process tapping DJ's back left fender and making the tuner lose control.

Both cars went off the road, twisting left-and-right to avoid boulders, cacti, and each other. They jumped back on the road, now racing side-by-side.

"Sorry about that, man," Crimson said sincerely.

DJ didn't buy his apology. "You rammed me!!"

"I didn't ram you," The Jeep shot back defensively. "It was an accident, I swear!"

"Yeah, well so is this!"

DJ shoved Crimson off the road. The Jeep was now bouncing against the uneven terrain of the desert, sometimes sailing through the air. Crimson let out a grunt of pain when he felt his under-carriage scrap against the ground.

DJ looked in his side mirror at the set of headlights behind him.

"That'll teach him," he growled.

Crimson got back onto the road, determined to get back at the tuner for his malicious act. He threw out his hook, caught DJ's back bumper, and jerked the tuner off the road.

"There! We're even!"

DJ bounced violently against the desert floor like a super-ball, steering back in the direction of the road. He managed to hop back on ahead of the red SUV.

Crimson accelerate and attempted to pass DJ on the left. The two cars glared at each other, looked ahead, and gasped in terror.

A sharp S-curve was dead ahead. DJ hit his emergency brake and started to drift into the curve as best he could. Crimson, however, sailed off the road, bounced along the desert floor, and jumped back on. He looked ahead and didn't see a pair of taillights in front of him - he was now ahead of DJ!

He laughed and said to himself, "Here comes the fun part!"

DJ accelerated, trying to pass the SUV on the left. Crimson instinctively swerved to the left, blocking the tuner. DJ went to the right, and Crimson swerved to the right. The SUV looked in his side mirrors at the tuner, smiling at the ticked-off expressions on DJ's face. _He kinda looks like Chick Hicks when he's pissed,_ he thought, amused.

----

Back at the starting line, the other four cars sat awaiting the outcome of the race.

"$5000," Wingo pondered. "I wonder what DJ'll do with all that coin."

"I hope he pays me that ten bucks he owes me," Snot Rod said. The green import just chuckled at him.

Wingo turned to the black-and-purple import next to him. "What do you think, Boost?"

The tuner didn't answer. He seemed to be thinking about something.

"...Boost?" Wingo asked, concerned. "What's on your mind, dawg?"

"Huh?" Boost muttered, realizing someone was talking to him. "Oh, I'm just thinking about DJ."

"What about DJ?"

Boost paused, scanning the horizon for the two sets of taillights. "...I don't think we should've let him race Alpines."

Snot Rod and Wingo both looked questionably at the import. "What??" Snot Rod said in disbelief. "Since when do you feel guilty about letting one of us do a race?"

"This is different," Boost explained. "If it was one of you guys, I wouldn't be feeling like this. But DJ... you know how he feels about SUVs."

"What?? How does he feel about SUVs??"

Boost turned to look at the Jetta across the road. Since the race had started, Becky had done nothing but stare at the road, watching for Crimson's taillights and biting her lip nervously. Now she was looking at the three tuners with a scared look in her eyes.

"...well, DJ hates SUVs," Boost calmly told the VW. "When we were little, we got picked on by a group of 4x4s at school, and DJ got the worst of it. Since then, he's kinda had a grudge against SUVs."

The Jetta zoomed up to Boost, now reasonably concerned. "Wait, he's not gonna hurt Crimson, is he??"

"No, he's not going to hurt him," Wingo reassured her. He paused, thinking to himself, and accidentally muttered, "Kill, maybe, but..."

"CRIMSON!" Becky yelled as she sped off down the road at full speed.

"Wait, Carerra," Boost called out. "Ah, damn it, Wingo! Ya freaked her out!"

----

The incline to the top of the plateau was two-and-a-half miles away, but with DJ's desperate attempts to pass him, it might as well had been 50 miles for Crimson. The precision-designed tuner car, able to turn and accelerate faster the SUV, was swerving all over the road. At 140 miles per hour, Crimson was having trouble staying on four wheels as he swerved in unison to block the tuner.

The red 4x4 was pushing himself as hard as he could, fueled only by determination - and probably bullheadedness too. _I ain't lost a race yet,_ he told himself. _I am not losing this one. I'm not going to give this arrogant rice-rocket the satisfaction of winning. _

DJ was of a similar mindset. _I'm a street-racer, dammit! I should be in front of this road-hog, not looking at his backside! He should be eating my dust!_

After a while, DJ had enough. The incline was three-quarters of a mile away. If he was going to pass Alpines, now was the time.

DJ swerved to the right, and Crimson followed, watching the tuner in his side-mirrors. DJ suddenly jerked to the left and accelerated.

"Have a nice trip!" the tuner yelled as he shoved Crimson's back end, a move only Chick Hicks would approve of.

The Cherokee spun around the import, the SUV now up on two wheels. DJ jammed on the gas and sped up.

The tuner glanced in his side mirrors, seeing a dust cloud with a pair of headlights spinning around inside it. Thinking Crimson had wrecked, DJ laughed at his work.

What happened next made the teenage import squeal in terror.

The headlights stopped spinning, heading straight for the incline and the import. Out of the dust cloud came Crimson, literally flying through the air. His engine roaring louder than before, the Jeep Cherokee let out a banshee scream as he landed next to DJ with a loud **KER-THUMP!**

DJ skidded off the road, thinking that Crimson was going to play bumper-cars with the tuner. He wasn't watching where he was going, and skidded into a huge cactus patch.

The tuner moaned in pain, trying to move without coming into contact with anymore cacti. He looked up at the incline, watching a set of taillights drive up.

Feelings of pain were replaced by rage as DJ howled and swore angrily.

----

Crimson had reached the top of the plateau. Panting heavily, he stopped and sunk down into his suspension. _Finally, it's over,_ he thought to himself, exhausted. _Showed that little punk who's boss. _

The sound of an speeding engine caught the Jeep's attention, thinking that DJ was coming to seek revenge. He spun around, brights on and engine growling, awaiting the arrival of the panel truck...

...only for his lights to fall on a dark-grey Jetta.

"C-Crimson??"

The gas-guzzler killed his lights. "Becky?"

"Oh thank god, you're all right," Becky gushed, racing over and leaning against the SUV.

"What are doing here? I told you, if those guys try to hurt you, go to the speed trap."

"Those other guys," she said, holding back a sob, "said the Boombox guy hated SUVs and might hurt you. I just had to make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine, Becky," Crimson said reassuringly, lightly rubbing her fender with his. Her behavior was puzzling to the Jeep. _I just met her a few days ago. Why is she acting like this?_

Then it hit him. _Wait a minute... she really cares about me. She actually gives a crap about my well-being._

Suddenly, he remembered: DJ.

"Becky, you need to get out of here," he said hurriedly. "Boombox is going to be here any second, and when he sees me, I don't know what he's going to do."

His ears, still ringing a little from all the noise during the race, picked up the sound of four approaching engines.

"Too late for that," Becky said.

"Stay behind me," Crimson told her. The Jetta backed up behind the Cherokee.

Soon, the four young cars popped up over the incline, holding up DJ.

Crimson then realized they weren't holding DJ up - they were holding him back.

"DJ, no," Boost warned the blue tuner.

"It's not worth it, man," Snot Rod pleaded.

"Shut up!" he hissed. The blue street racer had a crazy look in his eyes similar to Bulldozer Bill in "Silence of the Cams."

DJ roared, "Let me go!" The three other cars backed away from him.

DJ sat across from Crimson, glaring at the Cherokee. "You cheated."

"I did not cheat," Crimson said plainly. "Need I remind you, you're the one who tried to make me crash. Twice. I won fair and square."

"Bull! What about when you tapped me and almost made me crash?!"

"It was an accident! I hit a rabbit hole and lost control; I couldn't do anything about it!"

"What about when you yanked me off the road??"

"...okay, I will admit, in the heat of the moment, I did yank you off the road, but that was because you almost made me crash! Besides, you still ended up ahead of me."

DJ's back tires twitched a little. Logic was not going to work on the tuner.

"...you're going down, Alpines."

DJ's engine roared as he charged Crimson and Becky. The Jeep shoved Becky away and leapt out of the way of the speeding car.

Over all the noise of the panel truck's engine, Crimson heard Boost scream, "DJ, THE CLIFF!!"

_Oh crap._

Immediately, the Jeep swung around and threw out his hook at the import, catching him by the back axle just as he sailed over the cliff.

Crimson jerked forward as the cable snapped tight. With no momentum, DJ swung down, smashing into the side of the plateau.

"DJ, you all right?!" Crimson yelled out.

"...oh man..." The import had the wind knocked out him. He groaned as he opened his eyes...

...and realized he was easily a thousand feet off the ground. DJ let out a blood-curdling scream, followed by, _"For Chrysler's sake, get me off this cliff!!"_

"Hang on, man," Crimson yelled back as he slowly retracted his winch and backed up. _Good god, this guy's heavy,_ he groaned to himself. He grunted in pain as he felt his gears grind a bit while switching from two wheel to four-wheel-drive, hoping for more traction.

As he backed up, the SUV hit a patch of loose gravel. He accelerated too much, sending out gravel in front of him. Crimson soon lost traction and skidded forward toward the edge.

Immediately, Becky and the tuners swarmed the Cherokee before he got too close to the cliff, pushing him away. The four underpowered cars kept pushing the SUV, pulling up the suspended tuner car.

The Jeep soon saw DJ's dual exhaust pipes peek over the edge.

Crimson gunned his engine, yanking the tuner car up over the edge and back on top.

"Oh thank you lord," DJ whimpered, his body shaking from his near-death experience, before he sunk into his suspension.

Crimson panted from exhaustion, as did the four cars who helped him. He turned to Boost, Wingo, & Snot Rod and said, "Good jobs guys."

He turned to Becky and rubbed his fender against hers. "Good job. You okay?"

"My drive-train hurts a little, but I'm fine," Becky said. She looked at the blue panel truck a few feet away from her. "Better check on him."

The Cherokee drove over to DJ and parked next to him. "...aside from the obvious trauma, you all right?"

"I'm fine," DJ huffed. "My CD system's a mess now, but I can get that fixed."

He glanced at the Cherokee next to him. "Why'd you do that? All the crap I put you through tonight, why'd you save me?"

Crimson replied, "Just because I don't like tuners, doesn't mean I'd let one die in front of me."

There was a pause between the two cars before they started chuckling at each other.

Boost, Wingo, and Snot Rod soon joined them. "Damn man, you scared the grease out of us," Snot Rod said.

"Come on," Wingo said, swatting the panel truck playfully with his tire. "Let's get you out of here before you jump off this cliff again." The tuners laughed at the green import's comment as they drove off, leaving Becky and Crimson to themselves.

The Cherokee rubbed his fender against Becky's again. "Thanks for the help."

The Jetta smiled at him before saying, "Wanna head to Flo's? After all this, I could use a drink."

"Sounds good," Crimson replied. He glanced at her and cautiously said, "I know it's late, but do you want to... make it a date?"

The Jetta paused, looking at the Cherokee before speeding around to his front and passionately kissing him on the lips.

Stunned by the sudden act, the Cherokee said in a quavering voice, "I-Is that a yes?"

"What took you so long?" Becky asked, her smile bigger than before.

The Cherokee smiled too, and leaned in to return the kiss. _Holy crap, I think I'm in love,_ his conscience said in surprise. Soon, the new couple left, side-by-side as they drove home.


End file.
